


A Voice in the Dark

by Dr_Fumbles



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Fumbles/pseuds/Dr_Fumbles
Summary: After Elizabeth's voice is destroyed during a disastrous trade mission, she is left to face a future in which she has lost the only tool, the only skill, she's ever had: her words. (WIP, along with the other 2 larger projects.)





	1. Chapter 1

“Go-go-go-go!”  
“Dial up the Gate!”  
“Don’t stop!”  
“Where are they?! I don’t see them!”  
“Look out!”  
“No, wait!”  
“ELIZABETH!”

The last thing she remembered was running, chest burning, and then suddenly all the breath was stolen from her lungs and she was drowning in darkness. She remembered being confused; how did she go from open field into water? But she didn’t have long to contemplate it before unconsciousness consumed her.

Now there was sound, muffled and distant. And pain. So much pain. She tried to reach for her head, as if massaging her fingers into her scalp would cure the ache. But her hand stopped, wrist tethered to something. The same for the other one. Opening her eyes, she saw…nothing. It was still black.

Panic started to overwhelm the pain, up until pulling desperately at the restraints caused more pain, and more pain led to more panic.

“Elizabeth!” A voice from someone who knew her name, but they sounded far away. She turned her head this way and that, trying to find some source of light. When the warm hands clasped her face out of nowhere she jerked back, screaming, but not hearing her own voice. “Elizabeth, please. Please stop, lass, yer hurting yerself.”

Carson. She knew that voice. Relief immediately washed the adrenaline out of her system. He was here. She wasn’t alone. _Carson, where are we? Are we prisoners?_

Still nothing. She could hear Carson, but she couldn’t hear her own voice. _Carson, can you hear me? What’s going on?_

She started to hyperventilate, tensing again and trying to pull away.

“No, no, Elizabeth, stop, it’s okay.” How was Carson able to touch her and yet sound so far away? “Elizabeth, ya’ve been hurt quite badly. Nod if ya can hear me.”

She quickly nodded, ignoring the pounding in her head.

“Ok, good. Now, are ya in any pain?”

She nodded again.

“Right, if ya hold still a minute, I’ll give ya a little something for it so ya can rest some more.”

She shook her head. _No, I don’t want to sleep, Carson, I want to know what’s happening!_

Her mouth was moving, her tongue was moving, but she could not feel the vibration in her throat. And Carson wasn’t responding. _CARSON!_

“There ya are, lass, just hold on.” There was a sting in the back of her hand. Something must have been put in an IV. “I know yer tryin’ ta talk to me Elizabeth, but yer trachea was badly damaged, so ya don’t have any voice right now. Nod if ya understand me.”

Another nod. At least she knew now why her throat hurt worse than any infection she’d ever had before.

“The explosion also damaged yer eyes, so they’re bandaged ta protect them at the moments. But at least yer hearing is coming back. Both yer ear drums are ruptured, and this is actually the third time ya’ve been awake, but ya fought us so hard since ya couldn’t hear or see us that we had ta restrain ya. Nod if ya’ve got all that.”

This nod was more hesitant. Not because she didn’t understand, but because she didn’t want it to be true. Because she was terrified. Even as the morphine worked its way through her blood she fought the approach of unconsciousness. She didn’t want to wake up again lost in a dark, quiet world.

“It’s okay, Elizabeth, let the medicine do its work.” Carson stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, let her know he was still there and she was safe.

*******

“How is she, Beckett?”

“I thought I told ya ta get some rest, Colonel.” Carson left Elizabeth’s side and motioned for the exhausted man to follow him to another bed in the infirmary.

“And I thought I told you to tell me the minute she woke up,” he growled. “I didn’t want her to be afraid like she was before.”

“Sit down.” He got no response from the exhausted man. “Sit down and roll up yer sleeve now, and I’ll let ya stay.”

After hesitating another moment, John finally relented and sat on the bed, tugging up his shirt cuff to expose a bright blue vein for the doctor. Carson must have known this was coming because he already had the loaded syringe in his lab coat pocket, ready to knock out the ceaselessly fretting officer. “It’s not yer fault, John. Ya need ta stop punishin’ yerself.”

“I have one job, Beckett, to protect my people.” To protect her. “When they get hurt, when they…die, it means I failed at my job. And that is absolutely my fault.”

“She’s not going ta die, John. Ya brought everyone back from Sevinias against greater odds than a more generous universe woulda offered.” From the bedside table, Carson grabbed a pillow and unfolded a blanket.

“But Eliz – Dr Weir…she’s never going to be the same again,” John whispered, laying back on the bed and looking over at her. “And at some point, we’re going to have to tell her.”

*******

The next time she woke she was startled only for a moment, but remembered why it was dark, why the world sounded so far away. Someone had been kind enough to undo her restraints, letting her move her hands to her face. Her finger tips found thick wrappings around her head, covering her eyes and ears. Her cheeks still felt smooth, her lips dry, and a painful cut along her jaw line. Around her throat was more bandages, hot and irritating now that she was aware of it, choking almost. Suddenly, she needed it to be gone and started clawing at the gauze, trying to find a seam to work her nails under.

“Dr Weir!” A high female voice, small hands grasping hers, pulling them away from her throat. “Dr Weir, please, it’s Teyla.”

_Teyla, I can’t stand it. I’m begging you, take this thing off!_

“Elizabeth…I do not understand what you are trying to say. But if you want the bandage to be changed, I am sure someone will help.”

“Aye, Teyla, I’ve got it.” Now the familiar Scottish brogue. “Hold still, Elizabeth.”

Soon the feeling of being choked faded, the cool air against her hot skin an immense relief. She reached again to touch the skin, but Carson caught her hands.

“No, Elizabeth, don’t touch yer sutures. I don’t want ya to get an infection.” Reluctantly, she folded her hands in her lap. “Good. Let me clean things and put on another wrap.” She shook her head vigorously. “I won’t make it as heavy this time, I promise.”

The moment the cold alcohol swap touched her throat, Elizabeth jerked back, prevented from falling out of bed by Teyla’s steady grip.

“I’m sorry, luv,” Beckett said quickly. “I should have told ya that was comin’. Hold still fer me just a minute, I’ll make this quick.”

This time he placed a hand against the side of her neck, giving her a moment’s notice before the sting returned. Clenching her jaw, she endured, taking calming breaths through her nose, which hurt less than air passing over her damaged throat. Warm cloth was loosely wound around once more, but it felt better this time.

What about my eyes, Carson? She reached up to pull at her bandaged head.

“Ok, ok, hold on. I want ta lower the lights.” Whether he did it or not, she had no way of knowing, but Teyla’s fingers intertwined with her and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Right, then, Elizabeth, I want ya ta open yer eyes slowly, given them time ta adjust.”

At first it hurt; not the light, but all of the tiny muscles around her eyelids. She’d had a black eye once, from a boy in college who didn’t like her refusals of his advances; this was worse. But slowly she became aware of light. No shapes, but there was light for the first time in… _How long?_

“We came back from Sevinias nine days ago, Elizabeth.” So Teyla had been able to read that question from her lips.

“Lass, can ya follow my finger with yer eyes?” No. Elizabeth couldn’t even find the hand attached to the finger. “Right, it’s okay. Early days yet. Give it time.”

“Lizbeth?”

Her head turned in the direction of his voice and a hand shot out in that general vicinity, quickly clasped between rough palms. _John._

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he said softly, barely within a range she could hear.

There were more distant sounds, then something cool – a bottle of water – replaced John’s hands. “I want ya ta see if ya can take a sip, Elizabeth, ta see how well yer throat’s healin’.”

She missed her mouth the first time, sloshing some down the front of her scrub top, but she moved the rim a little to the left and took an experimental drink. It was like swallowing a mouthful of broken glass, agony blooming, but she didn’t cough. She refused. The thought of the agony caused by coughing made her bite down and still the reflex. Thrusting the bottle back out into space, she made it clear another sip was out of the question.

“It’s alright.” John stroked her upper arm in a calming gesture. “That was really good.”

She would have laughed if it was possible. Dr Elizabeth Weir: water swallower.

*******

Each time she woke she could see a little more, hear a little better, but couldn’t make a single sound. She had questions, but no one could understand more than one or two mouthed words. Their constant praise and encouragement every time she managed to swallow some jello or oatmeal was becoming irritating. The painkillers that Carson kept feeding into her IV made her permanently exhausted.

One night, though, waking up in a dimmed room, Elizabeth realized no one was around for once. Reaching up, she pulled the bandages from her neck. She knew they had been trying to keep her from seeing the full extent of the injuries. At first she wasn’t sure she was actually touching her own skin; she couldn’t feel her fingers on her throat, but her fingers felt…ruin. Ropey scar tissue in peaks and valleys, running from under her chin to the top of her sternum. There was nothing familiar, nothing human about it. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth tried to scream, and absolutely nothing came out. This is what they hadn’t wanted her to know: she couldn’t speak. And never would again.

Panic set in, sending adrenaline coursing through every nerve. She needed to get out of this room. Ripping out the IV, she wrapped the thin infirmary blanket around her shoulders and walked towards the door.

“Dr Weir!” The duty nurse jumped up from her chair and chased after. “Dr Weir!”

Feeling the hand grab her elbow, Elizabeth instinctively turned and shoved, sending the poor young woman flying back. Horrified by what she’d done, Elizabeth took off running (well, stumbling), letting muscle memory carry her to the nearest transport. But she had obviously missed pressing the destination she intended, because after wandering a few corridors, she realized she was nowhere near the living quarters. It was dark and the air was stale; this was not a part of Atlantis she knew. Elizabeth tried to find her way back to the transport, but she couldn’t see well enough. She was lost in a city the size of Manhattan without the ability to tell anyone where she was. Without the ATA gene, nothing would turn on for her. Whether it was ten minutes of ten hours, she couldn’t be sure how long she was stumbling through identical-looking hallways before a door finally opened and she found herself outside in the cool night air.

She was tired, and lost, and hurting, and all Elizabeth could think to do was curl up on the ground next to the doorway and burst into tears. Her eyes stung, sobs utterly silent. Pulling the thin blanket over her head to block out the world, she willed herself back into darkness, wishing she had never come home in the first place, that they had left her on Sevinias.

*******

“She not in her quarters. No one has seen her.”

“It’s the middle a’ the night, Colonel, a’ course no one’s seen her.” Carson was short tempered, not just because he’d been woken from a deep sleep to the news that one of his nurses had a sprained wrist after a run in with Elizabeth, but that latter had now disappeared without a trace. “Ya need ta get Chuck ta try a citywide scan fer her transponder.”

Rodney, made an audible groan, making the others look at him. “We…never got around to replacing the one damaged on Sevinias. It’s in the lab. We were just waiting for her to heal a bit more before implanting it.”

“Dammit, McKay!” For a moment, the scientist thought Sheppard would hit him, and in that moment, John thought he would, too.

“She was in the infirmary,” he protested. “We had no reason to think she would need it.”

John looked over at Ronan. “I don’t suppose you have any thoughts on tracking her down?”

The giant Satedan shrugged. “How? No foot prints, no debris, no scents.”

“We need to wake the city,” Teyla insisted. “We need everyone looking for her.”

There was a look of disgust on John’s face, but he knew she was right. “Do it. Get Lorne to coordinate the troops. Rodney, get Zelenka and Chuck and see if you three geniuses can come up with some other way of finding her.”

“Oh, of course, because I have other ways of finding Elizabeth, I just thought I’d wait for everything else to not work,” Rodney said sarcastically, but immediately withered under the glares he received from all around.

“What are you going to do, Colonel?” Teyla noted he had left himself out of the instructions.

“I’m going to try to find her in my own way.” He didn’t elaborate what that meant, just turned and left them to wonder.

John retraced his steps to her quarters. The first time he had only noted she wasn’t there before moving on. This time he really looked, but it only told him one thing: she had never been here. Elizabeth had not been in her room since the day she left for Sevinias. She had not been seen anywhere near the control room, so she had not gone to her office or her balcony; she had not gone to the mess hall, she had not sought out anyone else.

“So where did you go, Elizabeth?” John whispered, stalking back to the transport. Just as he was about to head back towards the infirmary, a thought occurred to him. She couldn’t see very well. What if she had tried to get to her quarters, but missed? It wasn’t like the transport knew where she really wanted to go. John selected a spot close to the living quarters, but not quite, a building that they had not bothered with because it needed too much repair work.

There a little light when he stepped off, and John cursed himself for not grabbing his tac vest with its very helpful flashlight. “Elizabeth?”

His voice echoed down the corridor, but he couldn’t hear anything. Closing his eyes, John tried to imagine which direction he would go if he thought he was near the living quarters. After half an hour of wandering around the building, John felt his frustration growing. He couldn’t find her, not like this. If nothing else, he needed one of the Life Signs Detectors; for all he knew, he was passed within fifty metres of her and never known it.

A light come on. Not metaphorically, but literally, a light at the end of the corridor. John followed it to the junction, then another light to his left came on, and he followed it to the next junction, and so on, until he came to a large bulkhead door, the kind he recognized as an exit to outside. With a thought, a wish to Atlantis to show him what he wanted, the metal parted and he almost tripped over the bundle at his feet as he made to step out.

“Elizabeth?” Kneeling next to her, John pulled the blanket back, startling her, and he barely ducked in time to miss the flying fist. “Whoa, whoa, Lizbeth, it’s okay, it’s me, John.”

He could tell she had been crying; the utter despair on her face broke his heart. He also saw the devastation that was her throat for the first time since he’d wrapped his hands around the exposed trachea and tried to stop her from drowning in her own blood. Seeing where his eyes were drawn, Elizabeth grabbed the blanket back up under her chin to hide the scars and turned away.

“No, Elizabeth, please.” He gentry stroked her tangled hair, briefly wondering when it was last brushed. “You need to let me help you. It’s too cold out here. You need to get back from the infirmary.”

_God dammit, go away, John! You’ve done enough!_

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he said softly, obviously able to interpret what she meant. “You’ve suffered enough, Elizabeth. You don’t need to make yourself suffer more.”

She continued to ignore him. John triggered his headset. “Major Lorne? I have her. But it’s too far back to the transport and I’m not sure I could even find my way back. Lock onto my position and bring a Jumper. We’re outside.”

After receiving the affirmative response, John turned his attention back to Elizabeth, tugging her shoulder to make her roll over and face him. When she didn’t respond, he pulled her bodily into his lap, holding her in a bear hug to stop her thrashing. He could feel the significant change in her weight from the day he’d carried her through the Stargate more corpse than woman. A diet of fluids and bedrest was melting away what remained, and getting her to eat was continuing to prove difficult.

“I know you’re sad, frustrated.” He lips were close to her ear, making sure that she could hear him over the steady wind coming off the ocean. “You can’t tell us what you’re feeling, we can’t understand what you’re trying to say. But if you give us a chance, we’ll help you, we’ll find a way past this. Just please, give us time.”

She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so much like bursting into tears again. It was one thing to know what she was feeling; quite another to be able to feel what she was feeling. She was a mute negotiator, a voiceless leader; she was an oxymoron. Elizabeth Weir’s entire career had been built upon her ability to use her words; it was her sole purpose on Atlantis. Now she had nothing, and no reason to stay; the IOA had probably already sent her recall orders with the Daedalus, to be delivered upon the ship’s next arrival.

“Please, Lizbeth, will you just look at me?”

She wouldn’t. Her eyes were focused on the distant seam of land and sky, where dawn was just starting to stretch its rosy fingers above the horizon. This was a sight she wanted to remember, after it was gone for good, that she once watched the sun rise on an alien planet millions of lightyears from home. She would never be able to tell anyone about it, in mores way than one.

Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Lorne with one of the Puddlejumpers, Carson running out the back before the ramp had touched down.

“How is she?” he asked, kneeling down next to the pair.

“I don’t think she’s hurt, she’s just…” The Colonel wasn’t sure how to finish the description.

“Aye, well I want her back in the infirmary anyway,” he ordered, taking one of Elizabeth’s arms and helping her to her feet so John could get up himself. “How did ya find her all the way out here?”

“I tried to imagine what it would be like to run around Atlantis without the ability to really see where you’re going.” Sheppard wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close, as if she might bolt again. “Then Atlantis showed me the rest of the way. The city seemed to know what – or who – I was looking for.”

Setting Elizabeth on the bench in the back, Carson took her pulse first, then asked her to follow his finger. She didn’t. Whether it was because she couldn’t, or because she wouldn’t, he didn’t know. Sighing, the Chief Surgeon set next to her and held her hands between his, trying to warm the icy appendages. He was at a loss as to what to do; Elizabeth Weir no longer had any vocal cords; they had been destroyed by shrapnel from the Sevinian bomb. He couldn’t tell her to go talk with Kate Heightmeyer, and she wasn’t likely to sit still while the psychologist talked at her. For once in his life, he was completely at a loss as to what the next step should be.

It was a short trip back to the Jumper bay. Carson and John walked on either side of Elizabeth as if escorting a prisoner. Others tried to catch her eye, to offer smiles of encouragement, but she refused to lift her gaze from the floor. At one point she stumbled on a stair, not quite sure how far to lift her foot. Sheppard grabbed tightly and righted her, disturbed that she seemed to lack the energy to keep her feet under her.

“Elizabeth.” He stopped them before entering the transport. “Elizabeth, do you want to go to the infirmary, or to your room?”

Looking at him finally, she mouthed, _Room._

Carson looked like he was going to object, but a sharp shake of John’s head advised that this was not open to debate. Guiding her to the bed, John tucked her under the heavier covers and handed the infirmary blanket to the doctor. “Go get what you need – including the locator beacon from Rodney. I’ll wait here with her.”

“Aye, then, as long as yer not leavin’ her alone.”

“Never.” He said it so quietly, neither was sure it was actually spoken aloud. Once Carson was gone, John pulled a chair up next to the bed and started running his fingers through her hair again, based upon his own memories of being sick as a child and his mother doing the same. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn’t asleep. “I wish I knew how to help you, Lizbeth. I wish I knew what to do or what to say…I wish I’d never let you come to Sevinias. I wish I could bring your mother here to make you feel a little better.”

Her response was a shiver, flushing out the cold as the warmth finally began to seep in. She was too tired to cry any more, too tired to formulate a response. So she half listened as John told her other events and rumours from around Atlantis, another part of her brain simply switched into ‘off’ mode.

“…So that’s when we decided to trade three of our Puddlejumpers for three-year’s worth of popcorn.”

Eye snapping over, she rolled over and looked aghast at the Colonel, only to be met by a cheeky grin and the knowledge that she’d been had.

“I knew you were listening,” he said cheerfully, stroking the faded bruise above her left eye. “See, we still need you, because otherwise, you know I would totally make that deal.”

It was the wrong thing to say, because it was a lie, and they both knew it. No one needed Elizabeth Weir around to tell them not to trade Ancient technology for movie night snacks. No one needed this Elizabeth Weir at all. The person here, now, was just another mouth to feed without anything to contribute. She couldn’t negotiate a treaty, she couldn’t lecture at Georgetown; she couldn’t do anything. Throwing off the blanket, she swung her legs over the opposite side of the bed and stalked off towards the bathroom, closing the door before John could stop her.

“Lizbeth, I’m sorry-” He stopped himself from opening the door when he heard the shower come on. It wasn’t like she didn’t need one, and it would certainly warm her up faster. Maybe it would help her to feel a bit better.

Putting his hands in his pockets, John started to walk a slow circle around the room. It really didn’t tell him much more than her office did: she was neat, she was studious, she was interested in other cultures. He found a photo of a happy-looking dog (Sedgewick, was it?) and another picture of a young Elizabeth dressed in academic regalia, proudly flashing her doctorate for the camera while flanked by two beaming parents. There was no doubt she got her looks from her mother, but she definitely got her stature and her smile from her father. For a moment, John felt a pang of jealousy; there were no pictures of his parents ever standing next to him looking as proud as the Weirs.

“Where did she go?” Carson was back, bag in hand, one of the nurses at his side.

“Oh, she went to take a shower,” John answered, throwing his thumb in the direction of the bathroom door.

The doctor’s face paled. “Ya said ya wouldn’t leave her alone!” Dropping his bad, Carson started pounding on the door. “Elizabeth – I need ya to open this door, luv.” Pause. “Elizabeth?”

John’s heart hammered in his chest. Pushing Carson aside, he pulled the control panel from the wall and shorted the door lock.

“Oh Christ.”

She lay supine like Millais’s drowned Ophelia, arms at her side haemorrhaging deep red blood, staining her white infirmary garb rosy as the warm water tried to wash away the evidence. Hooded green eyes stared up into infinity and every worry line had been smoothed away, the ghost of a smile frozen on her lips like she had just won an argument; in her hand was her trophy, an antique silver straight razor.

“Nonononono.” Somehow Beckett had pushed past John and was pulling the woman out from under the shower head and onto the floor, clamping onto one hand while the nurse clasped the other. “John. Colonel, snap out of it, lad!” Finally catching his eyes, Carson nodded towards his bag. “Grab a couple a’ pressure bandages outta that kit.”

Only when the bleeding had been reduced to a trickle did Beckett even check her pulse, finally taking a breath once he felt a weak thrum under his fingers. “Thank God. John, can ya-”

Before he finished the question, Sheppard had Elizabeth up in his arms, taking off in the direction of the infirmary, every footstep the sound of another self-recrimination. In Antarctica this vibrant woman had demonstrated a faith in him no other superior had, and this was how he repaid her generosity: he failed her; twice, now. No matter what happened from here, John intended to hand in his resignation. If she lived through this, he would take her home to her mother, the one person who would love her just as much regardless of what Elizabeth could or could not do any more. It was the least – and last – decent thing he could do for her before ending his own tattered career.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone knew. But no one talked about it, because for once, the rumour mill didn’t want to talk about it. The city became unnaturally quiet, as if they wanted to join Elizabeth Weir in her aphasic world, that to utter a sound would sever her tenuous hold to life and the whole of Atlantis would sink to the bottom of the ocean once more.

No one went on off-world missions because there was no one to tell them to go. Technically Rodney McKay was in charge, but sending people away to alien worlds meant they might come back like Elizabeth, or not at all, and he couldn’t face the responsibility. Keeping them all together, personnel haemostasis, would keep the city from losing any more blood.

At the same time it was as if they had lost John Sheppard as well. He only left the infirmary to shower and change clothes when Dr Beckett forced him out, but he would always return within an hour. He slept in the bed next to hers, uncaring what anyone thought; he ate when Teyla or Ronan would come by with a tray from the mess hall. If someone asked a question, he would mumble a brief response, and never repeated himself if you didn’t hear the first time. He put his headphones over Elizabeth’s ears and played her all the music he had, including the entire Johnny Cash discography. Before hitting play, he would always tell her that if she wanted something else to listen to, she needed to wake up and tell him. Every evening, though, he would read to her from _War and Peace_ , then kiss her forehead, wish her pleasant dreams, and fall asleep to the sound of the heart monitor reassuring him that she was still alive.

On the eleventh night, just as John was putting the bookmark in the finishing page, he saw her right hand twitch.

“Elizabeth?” He grabbed the hand and pressed it against his bristly cheek. “Lizbeth, can you hear me?”

Her fingers flexed against his, and for a moment, just a brief moment, her eyes opened, trying to find him, and then closed again.

“No, no, wake up, come on,” he urged, jumping up and cradling her face in his hands and stroking her temples with his thumbs, trying to trigger the nerves to respond. “I’m here, Lizbeth.”

“Colonel?” Carson must have heard something and came out of his office.

“She moved, Beckett, she opened her eyes,” John insisted, stepping back to show him, afraid that he wouldn’t be believed. He hadn’t imagined it, had he?

Looking at the monitor, then back down at his patient, Carson made a fist and firmly ran his knuckles over Elizabeth’s sternum. It hurt. She grimaced, though no moan accompanied the look, and her eyes opened again, accusatory.

“Sorry about that, luv,” the physician said, smiling as he changed to gentle fingers trying to massage away the pain. “I just wanted ta see if ya were ready ta return ta the land of the livin’. Ya gave us quite a scare.”

At first she was confused, unsure of what he was talking about, but then she jerked her hands up, holding them close so that her eyes could finally see the stitches traversing her wrists. What she couldn’t say aloud, her face said: anger, disappointment. Dropping her arms back down, she lowered her eyelids again, squeezing out little tears of frustration.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” John cajoled, wiping away her tears with the cuff of his shirt. But she turned away and curled up on her side, pulling the thin sheet up over her head.

“Colonel.” Beckett stayed his hand from pulling back the linens and motioned for John to follow him into his office. He didn’t go any further than the doorway, though, unwilling to take his watchful gaze off Elizabeth, wondering if he should restrain her. “I know ya want ta help her, John, and I’m not sayin’ ya can’t, but pushin’ her too hard now isn’t goin’ ta accomplish anything. We need ta get Kate, we need a schedule, a recovery plan, or this is just gonna happen again, and I don’t think we’ll be so lucky a second time. Her body is incredibly weak; I don’t think she could fight off the common cold right now, much less an attempt on her life.”

John’s face was stony, trying not to betray the warring thoughts in his mind: one, a flair of anger that Carson wasn’t going to let him talk to Elizabeth the way he wanted to, and two, the guilt of realizing that the doctor was most likely right. It was John’s fault they were here now; not just the initial injury, but letting her go into the shower alone, all because he didn’t believe it possible of Elizabeth Weir the unwavering, stalwart leader. No, not just because didn’t believe it of her, but because he didn’t want to believe it of her; he needed her to be the same person she’d been before Sevinias. Because if she was still the same Dr Elizabeth Weir, it wouldn’t feel so much like he’d been her Thanatos.

Nodding, John looked over at Elizabeth once more, then finally left the infirmary.

He did not come back. He went to the gym and fought a punching bag until Ronon arrived, then fought him – badly – relishing every bruise delivered.

“This isn’t going to change anything,” the giant Satedan pointed out, offering a hand to help his sparring partner up, but John ignored it, pulling his own weary self upright.

“Again,” he invited, panting heavily.

Ronon crossed his arms. “No.”

“Again!” When John didn’t get a response, he lashed out, but Ronon easily sidestepped every wild punch and kick. “Come on!”

“No.” This time John grabbed a bantu stick and charged his friend, but Ronon swept a long leg under John’s feet, knocking him to the ground, and John didn’t get back up.

“I know what you’re feeling.” Ronon Dex was not a man known for opening up about his past or his feelings, but this was a time when it felt necessary. “I left Sateda, alive, when everyone else did not. For a long time, all I could think about was ways that I could’ve fought harder, saved more. But it was pointless. Because everything is what it is now.” Grabbing the back of John’s shirt, he pulled the breathless man to his feet. “You can’t help her now by getting yourself hurt or killed. You owe her more than that.”

“And what would you have me do instead?” John growled, tugging his shirt down and putting a few paces between himself and the Satedan’s long reach. “Pretend it didn’t happen so I can feel better?”

Ronon shrugged. “I dunno. Be whatever she needs you to be.”

“She doesn’t need me, Ronon, she needs her voice.”

“Well, you still have one, don’t you?”

John shook his head sadly. “I’m just a stupid soldier. I can’t speak for her; I can’t be her and I don’t want to be. There was only one Elizabeth Weir.”

“There still is,” Ronon reminded him.

*******

“Dr Weir? Dr…Elizabeth, will you let me speak with you for a little while?”

Kate Heightmeyer sat in a chair facing Elizabeth’s bed, a little closer than she would normally be with a patient, never wanting to invade their personal space, but she didn’t want to speak too loudly and wasn’t sure how well the patient could see her. Receiving no response, she reached out and removed the Velcro restraint around her wrist, turning her hand palm up and using a finger to trace the scars left by the recently removed sutures. “You certainly knew what you were aiming for. If Carson and John hadn’t arrived when they did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

 _Don’t remind me_ , Elizabeth mouthed, pulling her arm away and freeing her other wrist. It was humiliating, being chained up like a criminal or a crazy person. _But I didn’t invite you to have this conversation in the first place, if you call you doing all the talking and me being forced to listen a ‘conversation’._

“Ok, maybe this isn’t exactly a traditional conversation,” Kate admitted, reading the other woman’s expression, if not her lips. “Maybe there are just some things you need to hear, the first of which is that I’m sorry for not coming to see you sooner. Like someone who suddenly goes blind or deaf or is paralyzed, you’ve suffered a traumatic loss of part of yourself. And for someone with your background, perhaps what you consider the most important part of yourself. I think you would have coped better with the loss of your legs than this.

“But you are more than just your voice, Elizabeth, and your voice isn’t gone, not really. The mind that formed those words is there; it still works, you still work. It’s just that we have to find a new way for you to work. But before any of that can happen, I need to help you mourn the loss of that voice. And to realize that suicide is not an answer. No one here is going to let you give up on yourself so easily, not after everything you’ve done, everything you can still do.”

The look on Elizabeth’s face would have made a cactus whither. Kate’s words would have had more of an influence on a dyspeptic cat, and Elizabeth hated that someone who still had the capacity to speak would waste it on such useless platitudes. After making sure the psychologist fully understood everything she was thinking, _Read my face, Dr Heightmeyer_ , Elizabeth rolled over on her side, back to Kate, and closed her eyes again to make sure she didn’t cry. Sleep and bad dreams were preferable to this drivel.

Sighing, Kate got up from her chair and went to Carson’s office. The chief surgeon looked up at her in surprise. “That didn’t last long. Is she asleep again?”

“No, Carson, she just didn’t want to hear anything I had to say.”

“Well, now, I know Elizabeth can be a wee bit stubborn at times-”

“That would be an understatement,” the frustrated woman interrupted, taking the chair across from Beckett. “We’re talking about someone who has always relied on her words, who has always insisted on standing on her own two feet without anyone else there to assist, who until last month was leader of one of the greatest expeditions in human history. And now what? Because even I don’t know. She’s a mute we’re keeping restrained in a corner room and feeding Ensure three times per day.”

Letting her vent seemed prudent, but now Carson was worried. “Are ya sayin’ ya can’t help her?”

“I’m saying no one can help a person who doesn’t want to be helped. I can’t force her to accept a life she doesn’t want, Carson. All I can do…All I can do is point her in the direction of a more positive outcome, try to show her she still has worth, even if she can’t feel it herself. I’ll hold the door open as long as I can, but Elizabeth has to decide to walk through it.” Kate tried to massage away the tension building in her neck and creeping up her skull. “If it was me…”

“Ya’d feel the same way,” Beckett finished, nodding. Every surgeon feared the loss of control in his hands, forever barring them from the inside of the operating theatre. “Ya rely on yer words as much as she did – does.”

“What would you do if you couldn’t be a doctor any more, Carson?”

“I…I don’t really know. I’ve never done anythin’ else. I suppose I could try teachin’. Or go back ta genetic research. I write the report, let someone else present it, which is preferable anyway ‘cause I’m not really much few public speakin’. What about you?”

“Psychology and counselling is a large field, so there’s always a lot of options. But if I couldn’t do any of it any more…try my hand at writing, I suppose. Or work in a library. When I was little, I wanted to be a librarian.” She smiled at the memory. “Maybe that’s where I start with Elizabeth. No little girl starts out wanting to be an international diplomat. I wonder what else she wanted to be.”

*******

Whatever else she might have wanted to be, after another week, the one thing she was, was bored. Elizabeth was not allowed a single unsupervised moment, either Carson or someone else assigned to her suicide watch. But at least they had taken away the damn humiliating Velcro straps. She continued to be fed several times each day via the feeding tube that had been in place since she was pulled from the shower, more dead than alive. Every morning Carson offered to take it out if she wanted to try eating on her own, and every time she ignored him, preferring her own closed-off existence, little bothered by physical necessity.

She still slept most of the day, but hated the dreams, because every single one was a nightmare: either she had no voice and couldn’t scream for her friends to find her trapped in a dark room, or worse, she dreamed of her own past, remembering the sound of her voice, and that she would never hear it again. Her mother taught her the power of a well-modulated voice and clear enunciation, to be the one person everyone in a room could understand. Now those lessons meant nothing. She would never be able to talk with her mother again.

Ignoring the nurse piping the high-calorie liquid in through the feeding tube, Elizabeth’s afternoon wallow was interrupted by a commotion out in the main infirmary area.

“Carson, I promise, it won’t take long, just a quick translation-”

“Rodney, I doubt she’s awake, and she’s not really in any state ta help ya.”

“Look, it’s just two paragraphs-” and suddenly Dr McKay was lumbering into her room, tablet in hand. The moment he saw her, though, he looked ready to turn tail and run. “I – I’m sorry, maybe…”

But Elizabeth sat up and held out her hand, making it clear that she understood. Swallowing hard, Rodney finished closing the distance between them and let her have a look at his latest problem, trying to keep his gaze away from angry red line crossing her pale forearm. “We’re having trouble with this file on the main terminal in a new lab we’re exploring. There are a lot of words no one recognizes, and since we don’t know what the lab was for, we don’t have a place to even start guessing.”

Nodding, she pulled her knees up to rest the screen on them as she read, mind working backwards from the Ancient spoken ten millennia ago, to some of the older dialects they had seen before. Knowing she would need more time than Rodney would be willing to wait, she waved him away with a few flicks of the wrist.

“What? Oh, do you want me to come back later? Cause, yeah, that’s not a problem, I can go get some lunch and come back later.” He might have said more, but Beckett tugged his arm and led him out of the infirmary before returning to Elizabeth’s side.

“Can I get ya anythin’, luv?” he asked gently, but she just shook her head, not taking her eyes off the Ancient text. “Ok, then, just let me know if I can help.”

Motioning for the nurse to follow him, Carson left her alone, but kept the door open. He wanted to give her space to work, space to feel normal, useful. After a couple of hours, he discreetly called Kate and asked her to swing through the mess hall before coming down to the infirmary for her afternoon attempt to talk with Elizabeth.

“How long has she been at it?” the psychologist asked quietly, pausing by the CMO’s office.

“Oh, since just after 2:00 I think. I hate ta say it, but Rodney may have been able ta do what no one else could: get Elizabeth outta her shell.” He indicated towards the tray Kate was carrying. “She has ta be tired, but I want ta see if she’s willin’ ta trade the NG-tube for real food ta keep workin’.”

Nodding her consent to the plan, Kate followed Carson into Elizabeth’s room. Her eyes were probably less than 12-inches from the screen, squinting hard, so she didn’t see them come in at first. Nor did she hear her name the first two times Heightmeyer said it, until Beckett, spoke a little louder.

“Elizabeth, would ya like a coffee?” That got her attention, though she looked a little confused until she saw the woman standing behind him with a hopeful smile. “Ya’ve been at it awhile and I know yer not getting enough nutrition through that feedin’ tube fer any sorta sustained work. I’d like ta take it out and have ya try some real food.”

For a moment it looked like she was going to refuse, but finally, finally, she set the computer tablet aside and nodded her consent. Sighing with relief, Carson told her to take a deep breath and exhale, expertly pulling out the length of tubing before she’s finished. Elizabeth’s eyes watered and she coughed painfully, but the sensation passed.

“Here.” Kate handed over the sweet black coffee first, helping her to hold it as she took a few sips. It was hard not to utter words of encouragement, but Kate had learned her lesson about seeming patronizing, even if she did genuinely mean it. “I also got you a chicken salad sandwich. I figured you were probably tired of oatmeal. Do you want to try it?”

The moment the coffee hit her stomach, Elizabeth felt something she hadn’t in weeks: hungry. Accepting the plate, she took a tentative bite, chewing slowly as her tongue and teeth tried to remember how to work in coordination with each other. It was a bit strange, no one saying anything as two people watched a third eat half a sandwich, occasionally pausing to sip her coffee.

“Do you want the other half?” Kate offered, but Elizabeth shook her head, and no one pushed. “Ok, well, we’ll let you get back to work. Are you making progress?”

Giving only a brief nod, Elizabeth accepted the tablet back from Carson, resuming her study, angling the screen until she could finally focus on the characters one more. “I can help ya with yer eyes, Elizabeth, see about getting’ ya some glasses.”

A shrug was her noncommittal response. She didn’t want to think about glasses, didn’t want to think about her eyes never getting any better. For now, she just wanted to finish Rodney’s project, because the lab he found looked like it might be very useful indeed: data crystal fabrication. It was the foundation of Ancient technology, but thus far, the Expedition could only work with what they had, unable to make new ones. Maybe not any more, though.

“Hey.”

Started, she looked up to see a face she hadn’t seen in a week. _John._

“They said you were working late. I figured I needed to see this sight for myself, because I’ve never known Dr Weir to work late.” He sat in the chair next to her bed, noticing the other half of the sandwich. “Can I have this?”

 _Be my guest._ Turning her attention back to the translation (which was much longer than Rodney had led Beckett to believe), John munched happily on his snack, letting her work in silence a little while longer.

“Hey.” He tapped her leg, making sure she was watching, then touched the tops of his fingers to his mouth and inclined them away, as if blowing her a kiss. She cocked her head, confused. “Thank you. It’s American Sign Language.” He held a finger up next to his head, then pointed at her. “Understand?”

 _Is this what you’ve been doing for the last week, John?_ She was incredulous. _I’m not deaf. How is this supposed to help? Because I doubt the rest of the Pegasus Galaxy has any use for American Sign Language._

“Ok, look, I know this isn’t ideal. And it’s not – I don’t mean it as a permanent solution or anything. I’m just saying that maybe in the short term…maybe it would help us understand each other a bit better.” His big sad eyes looked so hopeful, and she wondered how much time he had spent on this. Festering resentment made her want to send him away, tell him to forget it, but she just sighed and raise her hand to her lips, mimicking him. “Yeah?” He said eagerly, moving his fist up and down. “Okay.” A flat vertical hand tapped the centre of his chest.

 _Okay_.

“And, um, are you?” He continued. “Okay?”

She didn’t seem to understand, so he reached for her hand, but let his thumb rub the inside of her wrist, tracing the rippling of the fresh scar. Flinching, she pulled her hand free and looked away, blushing.

“You don’t…” John paused, clearing his throat. It was irritating that no one seemed to know how to just talk around her any more. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, Elizabeth. Not around me. It’s my fault this happened to you.” She interlaced her fingers behind her neck and lowered her head, rocking in agitation. “What you did…it doesn’t matter. I mean, it does matter, it’s just that…I’m glad you’re still here with me. Us. And I hope…”

“Colonel.” Beckett was standing in the doorway, a warning tone in his voice. He motioned for John to follow him out, while Kate came in and sat on Elizabeth’s bed. He watched the psychologist stroke Elizabeth’s hair, whispering for her to calm down. But then the door closed, and he was left with an angry physician. “What did ya say ta her?”

“Nothing!” Which was an obvious lie. “Well, I was just trying to show her some basic sign language, and I wanted her to understand that it doesn’t matter, about what happened-”

“But it does matter, John. It matters a great deal.” Dr Beckett pushed him into his office and lowered his voice, not wanting to be overheard. “I know ya feel terrible about what happened, but ya need ta let Kate and I take care a’ her for now. Teachin’ her some sign language couldn’t hurt, ta be sure, but I still believe she has it in her ta walk right off one a’ these balconies if we let her outta sight even fer a minute. Bein’ careful about what we say around her is very important.”

Sheppard bristled at the implication. “And I don’t know the right things to say.”

“I think ya feel so guilty that ya can’t help always bringin’ it up, tryin’ ta take all the blame on yerself.” Carson shook his head sadly. “But that isn’t goin’ ta work. She put that blade ta her own wrists, not you. Whether she blames ya or not doesn’t change the agony in her own mind.”

Giving only a curt nod, John turned and left once more, not looking back.

“Dammit.” Carson didn’t want to alienate John. It was probable that in his own way, the Colonel needed as much help from Kate as Dr Weir.

*******

The next ambassador to Elizabeth’s room was Teyla, coming in the following morning with a plate of toast and eggs and a fresh cup of coffee.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” she said with a smile, using that melodic tone of voice that always seemed to put others at ease. “Rodney sent me to see if you might trade his computer back in exchange for breakfast.”

She looked tired, having stayed up late after Dr Heightmeyer left to finish the translation. From the bedside table, Elizabeth picked up the tablet, letting Teyla set down the food in its place, and then handed her the final report.

“Thank you.” The Athosian woman pulled her fingers away from her mouth.

 _You’ve been spending time with John_ , Elizabeth realized.

“I think it is quite marvellous that there is an entire language for your people that can be spoken with only your hands. Colonel Sheppard and I are learning from Dr Stanton, whose sister is deaf. We have a few signals used among my people when we need to warn each other about the Wraith while remaining quiet. Dr Stanton is anxious to incorporate these into the sign language.” Teyla grabbed at her chest, then flung her hand away, as if tearing out her own heart. “Wraith.” Her index finger flew across the front of her eyes. “Dart.” Now her whole hand did. “Hive ship.” With her pinkie finger, she drew a circle in the air. “Stargate.”

Elizabeth copied each, more out of a sense of politeness than genuine interest. Well, ok, if she was honest, it was a bit interesting, seeing how some sign language developed in Pegasus as a defence against the Wraith.

“That’s really good,” Teyla said encouragingly. “I’ll show you some more later, if you like.”

“Actually, Teyla,” Carson was standing in the doorway, “could ya come back after ya see Rodney? I might have a job few ya.”

“Of course,” she agreed, giving Elizabeth another smile before leaving.

Watching her go, Elizabeth felt…lonely, having lost her not-so-little translation task, and someone who talked to her without a perpetual look of concern or pity. She hated it here; she hated this room; she hated Atlantis. For the first time in years, she just wanted to go home, to Earth.

“Elizabeth?” Carson was still there, his face showing concern and pity; she looked away from him. “I asked Teyla ta come back because I thought ya might let her go with ya to yer quarters. I thought ya might like ta have a shower and put on some regular clothes, it’s just that…”

 _Just that I’m not allowed to be alone,_ she finished for the doctor, eyes drawn to her ruined wrists, wishing the scrub top had longer sleeves. Her heart felt heavy; she was never going to be free of this.

“Hey.” Beckett reached out to lift her chin and turn her head to face him. “It’s not goin’ ta be like this ferever. Yer gonna get better, and we’re gonna help ya. Ya will always have a place in Atlantis; we need ya here.”

 _How? Doing what?_ She asked angrily, watching Carson watch her lips, trying to follow what she was saying. _Never mind, forget it._

Rather than trying to respond to what he thought she said, Carson pressed on. “After ya get cleaned up, maybe ya can go ta Rodney’s lab, see how things are going.”

She just shrugged, and said something she hadn’t said since undergrad: Whatever.

“Good.” The physician was apparently satisfied. Taking the plate from its place on the table, he balanced it on her lap. “Eat up.” She hesitated. “Eat it, or I go get the feeding tube.”

Sighing, she picked up the fork and forced herself to swallow some of the cold eggs, wincing.

“Do ya want me ta warm it up fer ya?” Carson offered.

She rolled her eyes. _I swear you’re worse than my mother._

*******

“Colonel, we have an incoming transmission from the _Daedalus_.”

Sheppard looked up at Chuck from his desk – Elizabeth’s desk, really, but he worked from the other side, wouldn’t use her chair. “I thought they were still a few days away?”

“They are, sir, but Colonel Caldwell is insisting on speaking with you.”

“Right.” Ugh. Getting up, John followed the technician out to the control room and sat behind the screen Chuck indicated towards. “This is Sheppard.”

“Colonel.” Steven Caldwell didn’t look happy, but then again, he never looked happy. “I’m not supposed to say anything yet because they wanted to avoid a scene, but I felt like you deserved a little warning: I have recall orders from the IOA for Dr Weir.” Someone punched John in the stomach and sucked all the warmth from the room. “Richard Woolsey is aboard. I thought you should have a few days to get her ready, to get Atlantis ready.”

John swallowed several times before he was able to find his voice. “Sir, isn’t there any-”

“No, Sheppard. I’m sorry, but Dr Weir is no longer in command of this Expedition.”


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth pulled on a familiar long-sleeved red top and turned back towards Teyla, who was seated on the bed and trying to discretely give the other woman some privacy, but was tensed, ready to jump into action should Elizabeth do anything suspicious. Though Athosians were not so self-conscious about the naked human form, over the years Teyla had become acutely aware that the Atlantians did. In retrospect, Carson has been wise in picking her as Elizabeth’s keeper; too many others would have looked away, would not have seen the way she contemplated the small disposable pink razor with hollow eyes, would not have reached out to gently take it from her hand. Now that she was out of the shower and dressed, Elizabeth seemed to come back to some awareness of herself and her surroundings. Taking a hairbrush off the table, she tried to work it through her dark curls, but the weakened tendon in her wrist spasmed and she dropped it.

“Here, let me,” Teyla said quickly, picking up the brush and guiding Elizabeth to sit. Humming a sad Athosian tune, her gentle fingers started at the ends of the wet locks and slowly worked the brush up to the roots in smooth strokes. Taking the towel, Teyla drew out more water, then started brushing again, not because there were any tangles, but because she watched the tension leave Elizabeth’s shoulders, watched her head bow forward, relaxing. “Why don’t you lay down for a little bit?”

Nodding, still in a trance, Elizabeth curled up on her side, this bed far more inviting than the one in the infirmary. She was vaguely aware of Teyla continuing to run the brush through her hair, spreading Elizabeth’s locks across the pillow while resuming her melody. Watching Elizabeth’s eyes grow heavy, Teyla’s touch grew lighter, finally stopping when she was sure the other woman was asleep. But she didn’t move from Elizabeth’ side, unwilling to make the same mistake John had; not that she blamed John, but Teyla knew he loved Elizabeth too much to see the darker side of her personality.

Carson had known; he’d seen it better than anyone when the Ancients sent the Expedition packing back to Earth, and Dr Elizabeth Weir found herself a superfluous professional belonging nowhere, responsible for no one. The doctor told Teyla about it a few weeks after their return to Atlantis when the Athosian expressed concern about Elizabeth’s 20-hour work days; Carson was willing to let it slide because it was the most alive Elizabeth had been in months.

“Teyla, where are you?”

Getting up from the bed, she retreated to a far corner of the room before tapping her headset. “I’m here, Colonel, in Dr Weir’s quarters. She’s asleep at the moment.”

“Ok, that’s good. That’s…good. I – we – need to talk to Elizabeth.”

A shiver ran through her. “What’s going on, John? She just fell asleep.”

“It’s important, Teyla. Just stay there.”

What now?

*******

John glared at the two doctors, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. “You can’t be serious. Surely you can stop them from doing this!”

Kate Heightmeyer shifted uncomfortably. “Colonel, even if we had the medical authority to stop the IOA from recalling Elizabeth, I’m not sure what we would accomplish.”

“She needs help, John,” Carson added reluctantly. “More help than we can give her here, specialists who would be able to help.”

“Elizabeth Weir belongs on Atlantis.” The veins running down John’s temples were visibly throbbing. “And there is no Atlantis without Elizabeth Weir.”

“Maybe she can come back,” Kate offered, “after she gets better.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her now,” John growled, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. It was time to follow through with his promise, the one he made the day he carried her out of the shower. Pushing himself off the desk, he pointed at both his debaters: “You’re coming with me to tell her.”

Carson nodded solemnly. “Of course, John.”

They listened to him call Teyla, following in his wake through the corridors. Carson and Kate were not surprised by the recall order; they’d had no choice to report not just the devastating injuries, but the suicide attempt as well. It had been their hope that a temporary Expedition leader would be brought in, but that had been a long shot.

Tapping on the door lightly, Teyla opened it and stood aside, a worried look on her face. John hesitated, watching Elizabeth’s sleeping form, and hating himself for what he was about to do. With cool knuckles, he gently stroked her cheek until her green eyes opened and found him. “Hey there.”

 _Hi_ , she mouthed. _What’s wrong?_

“Elizabeth…” He took her hand in his, having trouble finding his own voice. “We got a message from the _Daedalus_. They’re going to be here in a couple of days. They – that is, the IOA, they gave orders…Woolsey is aboard, and he’s, um, your replacement.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect from her, but he wasn’t expecting her to be so…serene. After a moment, letting the information sink in, she nodded and got up. This is what she had expected, had been waiting for since the day she realized she would never negotiate another treaty or give another order. From the closet she pulled out the original Expedition pack she’d come through with, and two suitcases that had arrived on subsequent trips. The four of them watched her calmly start to empty her drawers and pack away the clothes therein.

“Elizabeth…” Kate started, but she was deliberately ignored; no eye contact, no mouthed words.

Unable to watch any more, John turned and left.

“Is this what your people do?” Teyla asked harshly. “Do you always dispose of your injured so readily when you deem them of no further use?”

“No, luv, it’s not like that,” Carson said quickly, but stumbled, unable to find the words for what it was supposed to be like. “She just needs more help than we can give her here.”

Crossing her arms defiantly, the Athosian woman conveyed her disbelief. “What do you have on Earth that you cannot possibly have on Atlantis?”

“More people trained to help people like Elizabeth,” Kate explained gently. “More people like me who can spend time with her, the kind of time we don’t have in this hectic environment.”

“Do you not have the time? Or do you find making the time to be inconvenient?”

Discussion continued around her like she was not even there. Elizabeth was able to pick out most of the words, her hearing much improved, though there was a ringing that never stopped. Taking down her books, she lined the bottom of each bag with them, spreading out the weight. The few breakables in her room were wrapped in socks and shirts. Contemplating the pieces of her expedition uniform, Elizabeth finally wadded them up and put them in a trash can; they were of no further use, in fact, it would be inappropriate to wear.

“Elizabeth, what are ya doin’?” Beckett grabbed the jacket out the rubbish bin, a pained look on his face. “Ya don’t have to do this; ya don’t have to pack yet. It’ll be at least a week before the _Daedalus_ heads back ta Earth. And maybe…maybe somethin’ll change in the meantime.”

She gave him a curious look, like the doctor was not quite in his right mind. _No, Carson, it’s time to go_. Looking around her room, she couldn’t find the one thing she wanted: a scarf. _I need to get a few things out of my office, and you still have my father's razor._

“I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Smiling, letting him know he was forgiven for not understanding, Elizabeth gave him a rather condescending pat on the shoulder and went back to packing. The things in her office didn’t matter. If there was time, she could go get them at night when no one was around to see her. But she didn't need them, not really; she just didn't want to leave a mess for Richard.

“Elizabeth, please stop.” Teyla put a hand atop one of the suitcases, stalling the zipper. “You do not have to go with them. If they will not let you work on Atlantis any longer, my people will have you. Gladly. You knowledge and experience would be invaluable.”

Miming the gesture for ‘thank you’, Elizabeth resumed packing. It was hard enough for the Athosians to feed themselves sometimes; she would not be another burden to them. There was no use in fighting, in negotiating for a new place on the Expedition; if what had happened to her had happened to another team member, she would quite likely send them back to Earth as well. This wasn't a charity operation; everyone needed to be able to do their part.

Seeing that Dr Weir would not be dissuaded from her current task, Carson and Kate left her in Teyla’s capable hands, though she could do nothing but watch quietly as Elizabeth packed away her Pegasus life. When it seemed there was nothing left, that she might stop, Elizabeth started to clean the room, preparing it for the next inhabitant. Filling a waste bin with liquid soap and water, she grabbed a hand towel and set to work. On hands and knees she scrubbed the corners and baseboards, all the little places that possibly hadn’t been touched in ten thousand years.

“That is enough, Elizabeth.” Teyla grabbed one of her arms to stay its cleansing mission, but Weir pulled free and resumed her task, never looking up. “Stop. Now.” Though much smaller than the other woman, Teyla was far better trained, hooking her arms under Elizabeth’s and pulling her up and back, then turning to force her stomach-down on the bed, pinning her with her weight. “Stop. There is no sense in this. I know that you are upset, but you are still recovering, and this will only exhaust your body. It will not help your soul.”

Breathing hard, Elizabeth forced her aching muscles to finally relax. If nothing else, Teyla was right about her being tired. When she felt the weight on her back lifted away, Elizabeth crawled the rest of the way into the bed and curled up in the fetal position, ready to resume her sleep. Vaguely, she was aware of a small Athosian climbing into bed as well, draping an arm over her waist to keep track of Elizabeth. A few tears slipped from her closed eyes before drifting into dreamless sleep.

*******

There was a flash of light and two men appeared in the Gateroom, both equally depilated, but vastly different in their dress.

“Colonel Caldwell, welcome back to Atlantis, sir.” Evan Lorne snapped to attention. "And you, Mr Woolsey."

“Major.” Steven nodded in acknowledgement of the salute. “Where is Colonel Sheppard?”

The other man shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “He’s, um…He…resigned, sir.”

“He what?!” Caldwell barked.

From his vest pocket, Lorne pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and handed it over without comment.

_I, Colonel John Sheppard, hereby resign my commission with the United States Air Force effective immediately._

It was signed and dated the day before.

“What is the meaning of this?” Richard Woolsey read the sentence, frowning, though it was likely his normal countenance.

“He resigned, sir,” Evan reiterated. “He is currently his quarters packing his bags and left me in charge of the military contingent.”

“But – why?” For years, Steven Caldwell had craved command of Atlantis. That anyone would be so foolish to willing give it up was beyond him.

Major Lorne shrugged. “I’m afraid he did not share his thoughts with me, sir.” Though Evan could guess. Everyone knew how John Sheppard felt about Elizabeth Weir; when word of her dismissal spread through the city, no one was surprised by his next move. A few others were also talking about leaving Atlantis, miserable under Rodney McKay’s current reign of terror. He wasn't just working himself to exhaustion, but the rest of the civilian scientists as well, looking from distraction from the present catastrophe. 

“Can he do that?” Woolsey asked, disappointed that he would have to take on a new military advisor as well in his new position.

“We’re not currently at war, Mr Woolsey, and Colonel Sheppard has been stationed here far beyond his original deployment. Technically, yes he can.” Caldwell refolded the paper and put it in his own pocket. “Nonetheless, I would still like to speak with him.”

Nodding, Major Lorne led the way, and after a moment’s hesitation, Woolsey followed, reasoning no one was likely to steal his bags out of the Gateroom. Probably. No one appeared very happy to see him.

*******

Carson and Kate were in John’s room, watching him pack the same way Elizabeth had, also desperately trying to reason with him.

“Lad, I know ya blame yerself few what happened, but don’t compound one tragedy by adding ta it.” Carson had lost patients before, seen more than his fair share of people die, but what was currently happening broke his heart because things didn’t have to be this way, yet he could do nothing to stop it.

John shoved several crumpled shirts into his duffel. “It’s done, Beckett, I’ve resigned; I’m going back to Earth with Elizabeth.”

“Colonel, I know you’re upset-”

“Don’t call me that,” John said so harshly to Kate that he immediately felt bad when she unconsciously took a step back. “I’m not a Colonel any more, just a – a Mister.”

“John,” the psychologist started again. “I know Elizabeth would not want you doing this, not for her. She often spoke of you as being more indispensable to Atlantis than she was.”

“Well, she’ll never speak about that again, will she?” he said bitterly, forcing the zipper of his bag closed. “Just let it go, both of you. Let me go. I want to go home.”

Carson made to argue further, but there was a knock at the door. John nodded to Kate and she went over to trigger the release, stepping aside quickly to let in the contingent of dour looking men.

“Colonel Sheppard, would mind telling me just what the hell it is you think you’re doing?”

John looked over his shoulder at his former superior, “I thought Major Lorne had made that clear.” No ‘sir’ to footnote his statement.

“I’m yet to hear any reason as to why, Sheppard.”

“My reasons are my own, Colonel.” When he didn’t receive a response, John left off his packing and finally turned to face the man. “Are you going to deny me passage back to Earth?”

“I do not believe that would accomplish anything,” Richard Woolsey said quickly, trying to de-escalate the atmosphere. “But you have certainly left us in quite a lurch, Colonel Sheppard, as we did not come prepared to fill your position as well. It will be very difficult on the Expedition to lose both their civilian and military heads at the same time. I don’t suppose there is any way we might prevail upon you to remain until the _Daedalus_ returns next?”

“No.” Without hesitation or second thought.

Caldwell looked like he was ready to speak further, but Kate jumped in. “We’ll leave you to finish your packing, John. Let us know if you need anything.”

The psychologist firmly indicated that the other men in the room should follow her out, which to their credit, they did, sticking to her heels until they reached her office.

“Alright, Dr Heightmeyer, what was that all about?” Steven demanded.

Though much short, she squared herself up to the man as if equal in stature. “Colonel Caldwell, your time spent in Atlantis is not enough for you to know this city or its people. Antagonizing John Sheppard is not going to help, and to be sure, I think he needs help almost as much as Dr Weir. He has internalized the blame for her injuries and cannot be reasoned with. Because the IOA has deemed her unfit to remain on Atlantis, he believes the same of himself.”

We’ve been through a lot together. Steven never forgot Dr Weir’s response when he questioned her about her closeness to Sheppard during his infection with the Iratus retrovirus. “You’re saying Sheppard isn’t emotionally fit for command.”

“Among other things,” Beckett said, finally speaking up. “From others,” his gaze shot over to Lorne, “I know that the Colonel hardly sleeps, hardly eats; no one will spar with him any longer because he was intentionally losin’, lettin’ himself be hurt. If ya put John in a fight with Rodney today, I’m not sure who would win.”

“That bad?” Caldwell hoped it was a gross exaggeration. “So that’s it, then?”

“I think you should take Colonel Sheppard back to Earth,” Kate advised, “but do not let anyone accept his resignation. Dr Beckett and I have written a report and treatment plan we hope the SGC will accept; allow him to go on medical leave, get past this if he can. At present, he’s not in any emotional state to be making decisions about his future.”

Silence filled the room, letting the new arrivals filter the information. It was Woolsey who finally cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “How is Dr Weir?”

“Not well.” Carson was most succinct. “Forcin’ her ta leave Atlantis has certainly not helped her recovery. Yer just reinforcin’ the worthlessness she’s felt since realizin’ she would never get better.”

“That was not our intention.” Of everyone else, Richard thought he understood most what his predecessor has lost, as his career equally relied upon the power of speech. “And it should be made clear that Dr Weir has not been fired by the IOA; she has simply been removed from command, which I think we all might agree is for the best at the moment.”

“Don’t pretend yer ever lettin’ her come back,” Beckett growled. “And I’m holdin’ ya personally responsible fer her well-bein’ durin’ the trip, Colonel Caldwell. She is never ta be left alone, she’s ta be seen by yer physician every day, and someone’s ta make sure she eats somethin’.”

Steven nodded solemnly. Despite past disagreements, he still respected the woman tremendously. “I won’t let anything happen to her, Dr Beckett, you have my word.”

*******

When the knock at the door came, Teyla pushed herself up from the stripped bed, tucking the lone blanket more firmly around Elizabeth’s still form. Opening the hatch, she stepped aside to admit the exhausted, unhappy man in front of her.

“John, is it time to leave already?” she asked softly, blinking against the light in the corridor.

“No, we still have a few more hours. I just…couldn’t sleep.” He looked past her towards the sleeping figure, waiting until he saw her chest rise with a breath before going on. “I wanted to thank you, Teyla, for everything. From the day we met…we wouldn’t be here without you. I want you…if you could, please, take care of everyone for me.”

Her heart ached for him. “I will, John. But you could stay and-”

“No,” he said shortly. “I can’t. My job is take care of her now. But hey, at least you can go back to sleeping in your own room now.”

His attempt at humour fell flat with the Athosian leader. “This was not your fault, John. I hope you realize that someday. And that when you do, you will come back to us. With Elizabeth.”

John didn’t respond, looking back over at the bed. “Is she ready to go?”

“She has been ready since the day she found out the IOA has recalled her. Yesterday she insisted on washing the bedding and towels. It is as if she wants to erase every trace of her having ever been on Atlantis. Some others wanted to have a small party, a chance to say goodbye, but she has refused to leave her room or allow others to come in. It seems she would prefer to…disappear.”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” he whispered.

Three hours later, Elizabeth stood stiffly in the Gateroom, head bowed, shoulders hunched, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. A scarf gifted to her from Teyla was wrapped around her neck, hiding all trace of the ravaged throat. John Sheppard stood at her side, right hand barely touching the small of her back, making sure she knew he was there. Though her gaze was firmly focused on the floor, she became aware of the cadence of dozens of feet echoing off the walls, forcing her to look up as nearly every member of the Expedition filed in.

No. She didn’t want this.

Major Lorne stood at the front of the brigade. “Detail…Order arms!” Scores of military members from a dozen countries snapped to attention and saluted. Several civilians joined, having no other way of expressing their respect, and their grief. Rodney stood next to Katie Brown, gripping her hand tightly, both looking ready to burst into tears. Teyla and Ronon were more solemn, more accepting of loss as part of their existence. Beckett and Heightmeyer tried to give reassuring smiles, not for themselves, but those around them. 

John returned the salute, and Elizabeth only nodded, hoping no one could see the shimmering water in her eyes. She could feel the hand at her back curl into a fist, firmly gripping the fabric of her green shirt, reminding her that she was not alone.

“ _Daedalus_.” Steven Caldwell radioed his ship. “We’re ready to go.”

In a flash of light, the leaders of Atlantis were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

For the first day she never came out of her cabin. On the second day, John knocked on her door and pushed his way in without preamble, setting a breakfast tray down on her little desk. She was fitted with a biomonitor linked to the infirmary, at Carson’s insistence, ensuring that the slightest drop in heartrate or blood pressure would not go unnoticed. This at least permitted her some semblance of privacy and didn’t require a crewman to always keep her in sight. Before he left, Dr Beckett had given John the straight razor that once belonged to Elizabeth’s father, letting him know he could return it when she was ready; if she was ever ready.

“Do you plan on staying locked up in here the whole time?” he asked, pulling out the chair for her to sit, which she did; reluctantly. When she made to pick up the coffee cup, he grabbed it instead. “No, that’s mine. You get the orange juice and the food.”

Frowning, she finally picked up the military issue spork and shovelled lukewarm powdered eggs into her mouth, wincing at the unpleasant texture. Washing it down with the diluted orange concentrate was the only way to keep going. She didn’t look at John, just mechanically ate was in front of her until it was all gone. _Satisfied?_

“I guess so.” But he didn’t seem happy. “Finish your orange juice.”

Scowling, she upended the glass, but as soon as she swallowed, she knew something was wrong. It tasted funny, gritty. Medicinal. Slamming down the glass, she looked accusingly at John. _What did you do? What was in there?!_

Reluctantly, John reached into his pocket and took out a bottle of pills, setting it on the desk in front of her. “Beckett asked me to give them to you,” he said softly, watching as she picked it up to read the label. “He thought it might be…easier if you didn’t know you were taking them because he didn’t think you would take them willingly.”

In a fit of rage, Elizabeth hurled the bottle against the wall, but the lid was on too tightly for any dramatic scattering of pills. Disappointed, she turned and pushed John, once, twice, the third one intercepted by his hands wrapping firmly around her wrists and holding them both still. “I’m sorry, Lizbeth, I am. So instead, I’ll ask: Will you please take the pills?”

 _No._ She tried to pull her arms free, but he held firm. _Let go!_

“The antidepressants are helping, I promise.” With a little force, he marched her backwards to sit on the bed to kneel in front of her, to make her understand she was in charge and he was pleading. “Something terrible happened to you, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about it, but please don’t…don’t leave. Let the pills help. They’re just…helping your brain do what it used to do, boosting your serotonin, until you can get back to normal.”

 _‘Normal’?_ she scoffed, finally pulling her hands free. _John, I’m never going to be normal again! This is my new normal. THIS! She pounded her voiceless chest for emphasis. THIS!_ She pulled down the zipper of her shirt, opening the collar to expose her ravaged throat and the trail of ropey white scars running almost to her cleavage.

Where she had seen other wince or look away, he didn’t. Moving slowly, John took the zipper and gently worked it back up, never taking his eyes off hers. “I know you think that your life no longer has any purpose, Elizabeth, but that’s selfish.” His statement surprised her, as ‘selfish’ was not generally considered one of Elizabeth Weir’s sins. “You think that if you aren’t leading others, aren’t standing between us and danger, that you no longer hand any meaning. But did you ever think about us? That maybe we just want you around for…you?”

Her brow furrowed, trying to make sense of his words, but nothing was coming. They both remained still, contemplating each other, until John reached for the floor beside him and picked up the pill bottle. “I’ll make you a deal…If you take these, I’ll give you anything you want.”

She was incredulous. _Like what?_

“You name it; anything.”

 _John_ …She shook her head sadly, knowing that he was trying, but she didn’t have an answer for him. There isn’t anything I want. Except her voice back. Her old life. It was painful realization; there wasn’t anything she wanted any more. _I just want to be alone._

Reaching into his pocket, John pulled out his other secret. “If you take them, I’ll let you have it back.”

Elizabeth’s hand stopped halfway, hovering near the folded razor. It had been cleaned, lovingly polished, and not by her. She could have it back, if she did what he wanted, and use it to do what he didn’t want. But something stopper her; something wouldn’t let her touch the blade, and her hand returned to her lap. _No._

Part of him was relieved, deeply relieved. Only when he exhaled did John realize he had been holding his breath, heart pounding in trepidation. “That’s ok. I’ll just hold on to it for now.”

*******

Seventeen days more. For seventeen days she hid in her cabin, sleeping, occasionally reading, and only eating whatever John brought to her, though she wouldn’t drink anything other than water from her own bathroom tap. He tried to teach her a little more sign language, but she refused to humour him, and after a few days, John stopped. The ship’s chief surgeon tried to see her, but she refused to engage him in any conversation beyond yes/no answers to his questions. He at least had the authority to inject her with a vitamin booster laced with a long-acting antipsychotic. Colonel Caldwell also made an awkward attempt at getting her to play a game of chess, but she remained curled in bed on her side, refusing to look at him.

“What are they going to do with her when we get back to Earth?” John asked Steven over dinner the night before they were due to arrive. The two of them had reached an uneasy truce over the last couple of weeks, built upon their mutual concern for a woman they both respected immensely.

“Dr Lam made arrangement for Elizabeth to be transferred from the SGC to the Acute Care Unit of Willoughby State Hospital near her home in D.C.”

“Is that, like, a…mental institution?”

“Yes.” Caldwell took a sip of his third cup of coffee. “What about you? What are you planning to do with your newfound free time?”

Sheppard shrugged noncommittally, but he already knew the answer: he was moving to D.C. Still, he felt the need to defend Elizabeth. “She’s not crazy, you know.”

“No one thinks that, Sheppard,” the Colonel reminded him sharply. “Nor are any of the other men and women of the armed forces who suddenly find themselves temporarily incapable of handling the traumatic changes in their physical abilities. They only want to help her. We all do. And you, too.”

“I’m fine, Colonel.”

“Of course, because it’s perfectly logical to throw away your career and your command over something that was not your fault.” Steven held up a hand before John could argue. “I know what Elizabeth Weir means to you. And you to her. And that’s just made this entire situation worse. If anyone else had been hurt on Savinias, you would still be military leader on Atlantis. So you need to know that it has been recommended that your resignation from the Air Force not be accepted, and General O’Neill agrees. You’re being given medical leave and sent to an outpatient program at Walter Reed.”

“I’m what?!” John’s voice rose higher than he intended, drawing stares from other diners. “You can’t do that! You can’t make me do that!” He stood up sharply, pushing his chair over backwards. “No, Colonel, I quit, and no one else gets a say in the matter!”

Before Caldwell could respond, Sheppard was gone. At least he could afford to let this one go unsupervised; he wasn’t a threat to himself just yet, not in the same way as Dr Weir. Though he would never admit it to anyone, Steven had spent the last two weeks with a knot in his gut, perpetually on edge that something would happen to the woman entrusted to his care. It wasn’t just that he knew Generals Landry and O’Neill would never forgive him; Steven wouldn’t forgive himself, and he’d end up just like John Sheppard.

*******

More anger than he knew what to do with flooded every nerve ending in his body, clouding his mind, which is probably why he wasn’t thinking clearly when he did what he did.

“Get up!” he ordered, storming into Elizabeth’s quarters, startling her out of a half-sleep. She mouthed something obscene at him, but he didn’t follow, instead grabbing her arm and pulling her physically out of the bed. “Come on. We’re going to finish what we started the second day here.”

Ignoring the looks of others around them, John’s step never faltered as he dragged her to the _Daedalus_ ’ gym. Standing her firmly in the middle of the sparing mat, he grabbed a pair of boxing gloves.

“Hands,” he ordered, and she surprised herself by complying, holding them up so he could shove each one on and Velcro them tightly around her thin wrists. Donning a pair of punching mitts, John held them up in front of her. “Hit me.” When she didn’t respond, he used the tip of one to push her in the sternum. “Come on, Elizabeth, hit me.” Still the diplomat refused to rise to the bait. “See, this is why the Savinians were able to rip out your throat; no fight in you, no heart, no-”

Passing between the punching mitts, Weir landed a firm cross between his nose and upper lip, stunning Sheppard for a moment. Shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears, he was just able to bring up the mitt just in time to avoid the left hook. “Is that all you’ve got? Did you ever learn anything from Ronan or Teyla?” He let the next body shot land, and the next, goaded her into hitting him over and over again. “Maybe if you had, we wouldn’t be in this goddam mess. Maybe we’d still be home, instead of wherever the hell they’re sending us now.” She wasn’t hitting him hard enough for it to really hurt, and it just made him angrier. He started pushing back, jabbing at her shoulders and chest. “Come on!”

He didn’t mean to; he didn’t remember the signal moving from brain to arm, but he suddenly swung wide, the flat of the sparring mitt connecting soundly with the side of her head and sending Elizabeth sprawling to the ground.

“Sheppard!”

The gym had not been empty when they came in, but someone had obviously had reservations about the scene, because Caldwell, a medic, and two security officers entered at just the right – or wrong – moment. John was already moving towards Elizabeth to check on her when the S.O.s grabbed him, pulling him away.

“Wait! I’m sorry!” he cried, fighting them with absolute futility. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Get him out of here!” Steven ordered, helping the young medic roll Elizabeth onto her back. A trickle of blood ran down her left ear, torn at the lobe, and a bruise was already forming on her cheek and under her eye. “Dr Weir? Dr Weir, can you hear me?”

“Her heart is racing, sir, but her BP is quite low,” Nurse Fisher advised, taking off the cuff and shoving it back in her bag. “She likely has a concussion, but I suspect more than anything that she simply overdid it.”

Steven Caldwell was a stronger man than most might credit. He picked up Elizabeth with ease and carried her to sick bay, holding her tighter than was strictly necessary. She felt almost brittle in his arms, too light for someone standing 5-foot-7 in stockings, and he realized it may not have been a good idea to leave her care entirely to Sheppard these past weeks. At first it had seemed prudent, seeing as she wouldn’t respond even a little to anyone else; but now he wasn’t so sure of that particular plan.

“Over here, Colonel,” the ship’s surgeon instructed, already bringing up the Asgaard scanners. “What happened?”

“Sheppard happened,” he growled. “Or more specifically, Sheppard’s right hook.”

“It was a punching mitt, doctor, not a closed fist,” Fisher clarified, ignoring her commanding officer’s glare for even remotely sounding like a defender of John Sheppard. “But from the biosensor readings, they were sparring for at least fifteen minutes before she went down and she was already tachycardic.”

The CMO made a noncommittal sound as he looked at his screens. “No subdural haematoma, no intracranial swelling. I’d say, in layman’s terms, she got her bell rung. But I don’t like some of these other readings: decreased kidney functions, low creatinine, low glucose, bordering on outright malnutrition. We’re going to have to keep her here until we get back to earth. Fisher, get a line started, won’t you.”

“Yessir.” The nurse started to remove Elizabeth’s shirt, but paused to look over her shoulder at Caldwell, who took the hint and left.

Not that he didn’t have somewhere else to be, someone else’s ass to kick. It was a long walk to the brig, which was probably for the best, because it gave him time to cool off, to start to forget the feeling of an unconscious Dr Weir in his arms, the smell of her sweat to fade from his uniform. It gave him time to wonder if this was his fault, that by telling Sheppard what the SCG had planned, he’d pushed the man over the edge, making him lash out at the nearest target responsible.

But the man in the cell looked far from angry. John sat on the narrow bench with head in hands, fingers curling reflexively into fists and pulling at his famously untameable hair.

“Sheppard-”

John popped up, eyes wild with any number of different emotions. “How is she?”

“No permanent damage, as far as they can tell. But she’s not well, either.” Steven sighed, hating that he was having to have this conversation at all. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I – I don’t know. I thought if I could get her to – to fight, for herself, to make her angry at me, that she might feel better, that if she could fight in the gym, then maybe she could fight outside of it, too.” John buried his face in his hands again. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what happened.”

Caldwell looked over at the Brig officer and nodded for him to lower the shield. “Go back to your quarters, Sheppard. Get a good night’s sleep.”

But the other man didn’t move. “No, sir, this is where I should be. This is where I was always going to end up.”

Stepping into the cell, Caldwell knelt in front of Sheppard, lowering his voice so it didn’t carry. “John, what happened was an accident. You tried to help Dr Weir in the same way someone might try to help you. But you’re two different people, who somehow can’t stop hurting each other. So go back to your quarters, take a shower, and go to bed. And tomorrow, when we get back to the SGC, I hope you’ll take the time to listen, and go to Walter Reed.”

Not receiving a response, Steven got to his feet and walker back out, pausing at the exit until he heard the rustle of clothing, Sheppard finally rising to follow him out. It wasn’t a complete victory, but it was something.

*******

Elizabeth was awake, but she didn’t know how to get anyone’s attention. She knew she was in the SGC’s infirmary, an IV in her hand, and straps keeping her in the bed. Vague memories of fighting hands grabbing at her, thinking she was still fighting John, came back in flashes, reminding Elizabeth why she was once more restrained. Her head hurt. A lot. And her arms. And back. Pretty much everything. She wasn’t cut out for sparring.

Now she was on Earth, trapped a mile underground, unable to beg anyone to bring her aspirin and a glass of water. The saline bad had emptied some time ago, and the machine monitoring it had been incessantly beeping the entire time. Feeling her throat clench tightly, Elizabeth couldn’t stop the tears that soaked her pillow. Her jaw clenched tightly, adding to the pain pounding in her head. On Atlantis, no one had left her alone like this, no one would have left her crying for an hour, trapped in bed. Memories of her childhood would return, Katherine Weir sitting by her bed while she had the flu, reading the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. Not since her freshman year of college had Elizabeth cried from homesickness, from an ache so deep in her heart it felt like her chest might collapse in on itself.

“Oh my God, Dr Weir, I’m so sorry!” A harried-looking Air Force nurse came dashing in with a blinding flip of the light switch, turning off the alarm and pulling down the empty saline bag while she rambled. “SG-7 came in hot, two of them needing immediate surgery and the others all needing stitches and splints. You’ve not seen such a bloodied group unless you’ve ever seen SG-1 come through that Gate. I thought it would never end, and they had to call in Dr Lam, then they had to go back in for poor Lt Koss and – Oh!” The woman finally stopped talking long enough to notice Elizabeth had been crying, even though her eyes were closed and she’d turned her face away. “I’m sorry. Are you in pain? Do you want me to get someone?”

Yes, she was in pain. But – _No_ – Elizabeth gave a shake of her head. The intruding voice was somehow worse than silence punctuated only by machine noises. _I’m fine_.

The unknown nurse finished her task in silence and departed, returning the room to a light level just above dim once more. Exhaustion seemed to overtake Elizabeth, who tried to let herself fall back to sleep, but her eyes and cheeks itched from drying salt and she couldn’t reach them still. What was she supposed to do? She was miserable around people, and just as miserable without them.

“Dr Weir?”

Another voice, a different voice, softer this time and full of concern. “Dr Weir, it Carolyn Lam. We’ve met before, on you last trip back to Earth. I’m the Chief Medical Officer here at the SGC.”

What was Elizabeth supposed to do? Say ‘Hi, nice to meet you’ and ask about the weather?

“Lt Wellesley said you seemed upset,” the doctor continued, removing the Velcro shackles and letting Elizabeth rub furiously at her crushed eyelids. “Here.” Dipping the end of hand towel into a cup of melted ice water, Carolyn gently wiped her patient’s face. “There, that’s a bit better.” Lam’s quiet presence and kind nature reminded Elizabeth of Carson, and made her miss her friend. “I’m sorry you were left alone like this. There was an emergency and…given your recent history, we couldn’t afford to let you roam around unsupervised; for your own health.”

Still unable to elicit an acknowledgment of her presence, Carolyn put the binaural ends of her stethoscope in her ears and slipped the diaphragm under Elizabeth’s scrub top, making the other woman flinch at the cold touch. “Sorry.” Moving it around a few times, Dr Lam finally seemed satisfied. “Good, your lungs are clear. I worry about pneumonia after being in bed on your back for so long. I know it’s a bit early – 0530 – but would you like to accompany me down to the cafeteria for breakfast? It would be good to get your limbs moving again. And we have a new Belgium waffle maker.”

The last sentence was what got Elizabeth’s attention. For some reason, the idea of a waffle was irresistible. Nodding, she let Dr Lam help her out of bed, sliding her feet into a pair of Air Force issue blue slippers and a matching robe, grateful for some cover down to her wrists. Though her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso in defence, Carolyn still held onto Elizabeth’s elbow.

“You’ve been back in the SGC for over a day, but it seemed better to let you rest after your sparring session with Colonel Sheppard went awry. The _Daedalus_ surgeon put a couple of stitches into your earlobe to make sure the rip healed properly. He’s very good; you probably won’t even notice a scar.”

Elizabeth could have laughed at the ridiculous notion that she would care about a scar on her ear, when her throat and arms were testament enough to her life thus far. But the mention of her attacker made her think, and she touched Carolyn’s hand to get her attention. _Where is John? Is he okay?_

“If you’re asking about Colonel Sheppard-” The look on her patent’s face was enough to tell Dr Lam she’d guessed the subject correctly “-He was transferred to Walter Reed Hospital last night for…in-patient care.”

_I don’t understand. Was he hurt?_

“Colonel Sheppard wasn’t just accompanying you back to Earth on order, Dr Weir. He resigned his commission.” Carolyn’s explanation made Elizabeth stop dead in her tracks, guilt and panic at never seeing him again fighting for dominance. “General O’Neill refused to accept, though, and on Dr Heightmeyer’s recommendation, was sent to a psychiatric facility for evaluation and rehabilitation.”

_Because of me?_

“Because of himself. Because something wouldn’t let him move on from Savinias.” With a gentle pull, Carolyn got her patient walking once more. “You should also know that once I’m satisfied that you are no longer in any physical danger, it’s been arranged for you to go to Willoughby State Hospital outside DC.”

Now Elizabeth ripped her arm free and pushed the physician away. _You are not sending me there! You have no right! I absolutely did not consent-_

“Dr Weir – Elizabeth, please.” Holding her hands up in a placating manner, Carolyn slowly approached. “No one here thinks you are insane. We only want to help you, and it seemed best for your recovery to be near your home and your mother. But in the meantime…” She linked elbows with Elizabeth. “All I want for you, and me, is coffee and waffles. And if you say no to that, then I really will believe you’re nuts.”

While it may have been too early on Atlantis for many personnel to be up and about, this was a military base, and Elizabeth felt the eyes of dozens of Airmen and marines on her, like they all knew why she was here, and where she was being sent. She kept her head down, watching her slippers while Dr Lam performed all the pleasantries on their behalf when greeted.

“Dr Weir. Dr Weir!” A familiar voice pushed its way into her consciousness: Samantha Carter. “It’s good to see you again. Welcome back to Earth! Is Carolyn taking you to try out the new waffles?”

There was something incredibly infectious about Sam Carter’s insatiable optimism. Sheepishly, Elizabeth looked up and nodded, offering a weak smile.

“Will you be joining us, Colonel?” the physician asked, a hopeful, almost desperate tone bleeding through. Elizabeth couldn’t blame her; it would be a rather one sided conversation without any company, She wished she could tell Carolyn to not worry about it, to let her just go back to the infirmary instead of being in the way.

“Of course!” Sam said it almost too loudly and quickly to be believed, making Elizabeth wonder if this was not a chance encounter, but one already planned. “I have to come in early to have any hope at getting a waffle.”

Elizabeth resumed her study of her slippers while the other two women chatted amiably about current research on base and the off-world missions due to return. Though she would have preferred sitting in an isolated corner of the mess hall, Elizabeth found herself sat near the middle, looking up from her plate occasionally when someone stopped by the table to say good morning. Someone would occasionally ask her a yes/no question that could be answered without detail, but as time went on, Elizabeth started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. The room was too hot, too loud, everyone too close. It wasn’t like Atlantis; there was no fresh air, no gentle hum or breeze or waves, and suddenly it seemed like everything would come crashing in on her if she didn’t get away.

“Dr Weir?” Sam said her name a couple of times before reaching out to touch her shoulder, making Elizabeth jump and sending her fork clattering to the floor.

Carolyn stood up quickly. “Come on, we should go back to the infirmary.”

Each woman took an arm, leading the hyperventilating woman down the corridor…Heavy concrete corridors that could collapse in on them at any moment; or the air pumps could stop and they would suffocate. They must have stopped already because Elizabeth couldn’t catch her breath and a red haze was creeping in around her vision.

“Whoa!” Carter managed to grab Elizabeth before she hit the ground completely, giving her a more gentle descent.

Dr Lam pressed two fingers into her patient’s carotid. “She tachy and clammy. Breathe, Elizabeth. Just breathe. You’re okay.”

“You look like you could use a bit of help.” Cam Mitchell had a great sense of timing. Kneeling next to Elizabeth, he looked askance at the CMO. “She okay to move?”

“Please.” Carolyn was anxious to get Elizabeth out of the corridor. She shouldn’t have pushed so hard, should have seen the rising panic attack, but was too focused on her conversation with Sam.

Cam handled his burden with care; he didn’t know the woman personally, but knew she was important to several other members of the SGC. He didn’t know exactly what had happened; he tried to talk with Sheppard when he arrived, but the man had refused any friendly advances. But the scarring he could see from her open robe told him something bad had happened in Pegasus.

“The far bed, please,” Dr Lam instructed, opening one of the cabinets with her security card pulling out a small bottle. Only certain drugs were kept behind that door.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, watching Carolyn stab a needle into the cannula attached to Weir’s hand.

“Lorazepam. It should help her sleep a little while longer, and keep the acute symptoms of a panic attack at bay when she wakes up.”

“She seemed fine, though.” Carter helped pull a blanket up over Elizabeth’s torso. “What happened?”

“She just wanted to seem fine.” Cam knew. He’d seen it before in friends that came back from Afghanistan and Iraq. “Probably means a lot to her to be normal.” He reached out to tuck Elizabeth’s arm under the blanket, pausing when he caught sight of the additional scars on her wrist, then hurriedly hid it away, trying to pretend he didn’t see.

“Are either of you busy at the moment?” Dr Lam asked as she reattached the heart monitor. “I’d rather have someone sit with her than put her in restraints again.”

“I can stay,” Mitchell volunteered before Sam could say anything. “Teal’c can find someone else to spar with this morning. I’m still a little sore from the last bout anyway. It’ll be nice to sit on my butt and still get paid.”

Carolyn smiled, relieved. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Want me to bring you anything?” Sam felt bad leaving, but she had a delicate experiment waiting for her in the lab.

“Nah, I’m fine.” Cam settled back into a chair and put his feet up on another one, pulling an electronic game out of his pocket. He tried to appear nonchalant, but when the other two woman left, he sat up and pulled his chair closer to Elizabeth. “Hey there. I know you don’t really know me, but seeing as you’ve been in my arms more recently than any other woman, it seems like we should get to know each other. My name’s Cam Mitchell, SG-1. I just wanted to say: I know what it’s like. In Antarctica my 302 was shot down; they said I wouldn’t walk again. But they were wrong. They gave me the Medal of Honor, but all I wanted was a place in Stargate Command. You’ve gotta have something you want, something that makes you want to still be alive. I know maybe you don’t feel like it right now, but you’ve got a purpose. My grandma always said, ‘The Lord don’t have to tell you why, but He’s always got a ‘What’ for you.’ So, I don’t know why you’re here, but you still are, so I guess that means you have still a ‘what’ that needs doing. Maybe it’s not what you used to do; maybe it’s something else. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t need doing, and you gotta be the person to do it.”


	5. Chapter 5

John Sheppard was bored out of his mind and resenting it. He hated group therapy even more than being stuck in a Puddlejumper with Rodney McKay, because frankly, he could hardly tell the difference.

No, that wasn’t fair. These men and women weren’t complaining about splinters or hunger, but lost limbs and lost friends, parents and spouses that didn’t understand, nightmares that never stopped, awake or asleep. They had been hurt – badly – in the line of duty. Maybe that was why John resented them; they had been hurt themselves, not spared while Elizabeth Weir was hurt instead. Their deep scars and missing appendages testified to their past battles, while John carried nothing but anger and failure in his heart.

“Colonel Sheppard.”

John’s attention snapped back to the present, and he realized the group counsellor had been saying his name for some time.

“I told you not to call me that,” he growled.

“I’m sorry, Colonel, but until the Air Force has agreed to a formal discharge, you still hold the rank of a Lieutenant Colonel,” Dr Preston reminded him gently, holding up her hands in apology. There was no escaping military protocol, not even here.

“We can trade,” a Marine in a wheelchair volunteered. “You can be a Private and I’ll be a Colonel.”

“Blasphemy, Karikos, and you know it!” another Marine scoffed, pointing at his friend with an arm that ended at the elbow. “You’re not an officer; you’ve always worked for a living.”

In the past, such a comment would have sparked a fight, but Sheppard let it go without comment. He was the only senior officer here as a patient and not a staff member, reminding him on a daily basis that he didn’t belong here, not really.

“Gentlemen.” The way Eleanor Preston said it reminded John of Elizabeth trying to get the attention of her own staff when they’d veered off into the contentious and unnecessary. “Stay on topic. It’s the Colonel’s turn to speak.”

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably in his folding chair. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“The first thing that comes to mind,” Dr Preston urged.

“No, I mean seriously, I have no idea what the question was.”

Eleanor sighed; there was one in every group, and Sheppard was hers. “The first thing that comes to mind when you wake up every morning.”

“That I need to pee.” That got a chuckle out of the mostly younger group. “You can laugh now, but wait another ten years, kids, and you’ll be saying the same thing.”

“I suppose there is no point in asking how you act on your first thought of the day,” Dr Preston said wryly, looking at her watch. “Okay, that’s enough for today. I’ll see you all on Thursday.” Amid the scrape of chairs and clicking of wheelchairs being unlocked, Eleanor raised her voice. “Colonel Sheppard, I’d like you to stay behind for a minute, if you would.”

“You’re in for it now,” Karikos hooted as he rolled out the door. “If you’re not in the mess in ten minutes, I’m taking your dessert.”

“Have at.” He didn’t want it anyway. Sitting back down, John glared at the psychologist until the room was emptied, waiting for her to make his punishment known.

“In a week you haven’t made any attempt at progress or helping yourself,” she finally said, setting aside her legal pad to make it clear she wasn’t taking notes. This was personal and off the record. “Why are you here, John?”

“Because General O’Neill won’t sign off on my discharge without your say-so,” he reminded her, knowing full well that wasn’t what she meant.

“I don’t know what happened to you, John, because whatever you were doing is so classified, even my boss’s boss can’t give me a hint because he doesn’t know either. I was told I would need to ask the President of the United States if I wanted to know. But instead of asking him, I’m going to ask you to tell me what you think I need to know; not what the government says I need to know.”

Leaning back in the metal chair, trying to ignore the fact that his butt was falling asleep, John crossed his arms defiantly. “Hard for me to say when I don’t know what you know.”

“Very little. Only that you were the military leader of a top secret detachment that involved a lot of civilian scientists and researchers, and a diplomat who was badly hurt on your last mission. But I know I must be missing a lot of details, because I don’t see someone like you – who has had a rather colourful career – giving everything up because a diplomatic mission went south.”

“What’s wrong with admitting that I’ve failed miserably and should no longer be in the military? Why won’t anyone accept that?”

“Because if you had failed as spectacularly as you seem to think, you would have been drummed out long ago, or at least no one as highly decorated as General Jack O’Neill would be trying to save your career. That tells me that you didn’t screw up, and that a lot of people are willing to go out on a limb to bring you back into the fold. So why this mission? What went so wrong you would throw away your life’s work?”

“Because I destroyed her life’s work!” John shouted, then lapsed back into silence, realizing he’d said more than he intended to.

“You have to know I’m not going to let that comment go, Colonel, so you might as well go on. Who is she? What is she to you?”

Clenching his jaw tightly, John spoke around his grinding teeth. “She was the diplomatic leader of our…Expedition. And when they found out that she wasn’t like me, they attacked. A bomb ripped out her throat. She’ll never talk again. Her entire life was built upon talking with others, and because of me, because I failed, she never will again. When she realized that…she tried to kill herself. She nearly died again because I left her alone for a few minutes. Because I don’t know how to be anything other than a screw up.”

Dr Preston mulled over these new facts. “So you think that because she can no longer pursue her vocation, you shouldn’t either. Do you think she would want you to be doing this? Does she think you should quit because you failed?”

“No, of course not!” He didn’t know why he felt the need to immediately exonerate Elizabeth of any accusation of selfishness. “She’s better than that.”

“Is it because she loves you?” Eleanor asked, watching his shocked reaction. “And you her?”

“No! She could never love someone like me. She hates guns.” Even as he said it, though, John knew it was a lie, remembering the feeling of her arms wrapping around him after the Daedalus beamed him back to Atlantis during the siege. Or how Elizabeth had tried so hard to save him from the Iratus mutation, even after he’d hurt her.

“But could you love someone like her?” The psychologist had picked up on the missing part of his response.

“Only an idiot wouldn’t love her,” he grumbled. John didn’t mean it as a confession of love, merely as an indication of how badly he’d failed, by letting something so adored be so utterly destroyed.

“There was Kavannaugh, but, well, he was an idiot, so I guess he proves the point.”

“Does she know how you feel?”

“How I feel doesn’t matter!” Sheppard barked, but to her credit, Dr Preston didn’t flinch. “Look at me; walking, talking, grade-A asshole. Do you know what the last thing is that I did to her? Did they tell you that?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Like I said, Colonel, I wasn’t given any details other than a diagnosis of PTSD.”

“I hit her.” Well, that wasn’t the answer she was expecting. “Knocked her out cold. I thought getting her to spar would help, bring her out of her shell. I’d spent weeks cajoling her into every bite of food, trying to teach her sign language, doing everything I could think of to help, and all I did was make things ten time worse. So if you want to know how she feels… I imagine she had a headache.”

“What’s her name?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because just calling her by pronouns is going to get old, possibly confusing. What if we’re talking about her and your mother at the same time? How will I know the difference? You don’t have to tell me everything, just her first name.”

“My mother is dead.” The psychologist continued to wait, though, and he figured it was a common enough name, what did it matter. “Elizabeth. Her name’s Elizabeth.”

“Have you heard from her – or about her – since you arrived here?”

John shook his head miserably. “I left the day we got back to Ear – Denver. We landed in Denver. She went to a local hospital, I was sent here.”

Though it was obvious Eleanor had not missed the evasion, she couldn’t imagine what would be so top secret about Colorado. “Would you like me to try to find out? Would that help you?”

Another shake of the head. “No. Just…leave her alone. It’s what she wants.”

Sadness replaced the anger. That was worse. Eleanor could work with anger, could give it direction, could mould it into something more constructive. Sadness always proved difficult; there was no fire, no spark of passion to incite. Where most of her other patients were angry at the world and terrorists and Fate, John Sheppard was only mad at himself. This was much worse than she’d thought.

*******

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Cam stopped in his tracks and turned to face Samantha Carter, a sheepish grin on his face. “Well, ya know, it’s 75-degrees outside, the sun is shining, the birds are singing-”

“-And you want to take Dr Weir for another walk topside,” Sam finished, unable to resist the opportunity to tease her CO.

“What can I say, she’s the perfect hiking companion.” Mitchell resumed his saunter towards the infirmary and Sam fell into step beside him. “I get to talk about anything I want, and she just listens. Well, I don’t know if she’s really listening, but she’s a lot happier out there than in here. And my grandma always said, if you can’t do anything else right, you can always do right by someone else.”

Sam nodded, growing a little more sombre. “It’s nice of you to take an interest and help out, Cam. I’m sure Dr Lam appreciates it. And General Landry.”

“I know what it’s like,” he reminded her gently. “Besides, we’re not scheduled to go anywhere for another week, so I have to pretend to look busy, otherwise they might find some real work for me.”

With that, Mitchell dipped through the infirmary doors and over to the bed at the end, where a bored nurse sat reading a boring medical journal, watching over Elizabeth Weir, who was sat up reading a copy of _The New York Times_.

“Hey, you must finally be adapting to this galaxy’s time zone,” he greeted, shoving his hands in his pockets. She looked up and smiled at him, which was worth ten trips through the Stargate. “I thought you might like to go for a walk outside again; it’s warmer today.”

Looking over at the nurse, who shrugged, Elizabeth nodded her approval and waited patiently to be disconnected from the monitors. From under the bedside table, Cam took out the well-worn Expedition shoes and slipped them on Weir’s feet. The last time she’d tried putting them on, her head objected to being lower than her shoulders and nearly passed out; Carolyn had cut back on the anti-anxiety meds after that. A surplus jacket (about two sizes too big) and familiar Athosian scarf finished the hiking ensemble over hospital scrubs.

“Madam.” Mitchell offered his elbow, which Elizabeth took, though she was much steadier on her feet these days. It was fun to ramble on about his family and adventures, trying to get her to laugh her silent laugh. But Cam considered his greatest accomplishment to be getting Elizabeth to keep her head up instead of avoiding everyone’s gaze. “And that’s when I said ‘Do I get a third choice?’”

He knew she was listening because she opened her mouth and threw her head back, mimicking the form of a full bellied laugh. Others might have been disturbed to see her response and find no sound accompanying it, but Cam found it charming. Watching her out of the corner of his eye during the elevator ride to the surface, he saw some of the stress lines disappear from the corners of her mouth, excited by the prospect of seeing the sun.

Colorado in late spring was beautiful, and the flora around Cheyenne Mountain was in full bloom. One almost automatically lowered their voice in reverence, making sure the sounds of nature were not overpowered by intruding humans. Whereas Elizabeth had spent most of her life indoors, Cam pointed out the variety of trees and animals, lading each with descriptions of past adventures at home and abroad.

“Now this here is called Horsemint, also known as Wild Oregano.” Cam help a vivid purple flower with a densely feathered head and spicy scent. “Trust me, though, it’s no substitute for Oregano, and as my friends and I found out, you can’t smoke it, either.”

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth breathed deeply, relishing the unfamiliarly familiar smell of almost-mint. She had never really seen Earth like this, never really gotten to know her home world as well as she had the Pegasus galaxy. While she knew the old proverb about stopping to ‘smell the roses’, it was not something her hectic life had provided for, and at least out here with no one but Colonel Mitchell and Mother Nature, she didn’t have to worry about all those other things that had kept her moving at a clip past the flower trellises.

“Well will you look at that.” Cam’s comment made her look up to see where he was pointing, at a doe and a spotted fawn, still looking a bit unsteady on its legs. “They don’t usually move around this time of day. I guess Bambi wants a snack.”

They watched silently for several minutes, until the late morning sun started to raise the heat, forcing Elizabeth to unzip her jacket and shove the scarf in a cavernous pocket. Unfortunately, the movement frightened away the deer, mom and baby bounding off into the trees.

“Aw, well, I guess we couldn’t stay here all day anyway. You ought to be careful; I know it doesn’t seem like it, but right now this mountain sun is cooking your epidermis. It won’t take long to burn.” There was no missing the look of disappointment on Elizabeth’s face; she didn’t want to go back inside. “But, if you like, we can take a drive into town, grab lunch at this fantastic steakhouse General O’Neill introduced me to. Anything has to be better than base food.”

A steak. When was the last time Elizabeth had a steak? She gripped Cam’s arm tightly and smiled her confirmation of his plan. It was a half hour ride to civilian civilization, listening to music on the radio that was in no way to Elizabeth’s taste, but it was funny to watch her companion try to sing along. Of his many skills, Cameron Mitchell did not possess the gift of song.

“Trust me, you’re going to love this place; baked potatoes the size of your head.” Holding open the door, Cam let Elizabeth walk through first, neither thinking much of things until the hostess made an audible gasp and conversation in the foyer stopped; for the most part.

“Mommy, a vampire tried to eat that lady!” Out of the mouths of babes… The little boy wasn’t intending to be cruel, just making an observation about the world as he knew it. But all this earned him was a sharp reprimand from his mother, who then offered a mumbled apology to Elizabeth before hurrying out the door.

Cheeks blazing with embarrassment, Elizabeth grabbed the scarf from her pocket and quickly wrapped it around her neck once more. It was too late, though. Her heart was racing, her palms were sweating, and the sound of the world was replaced with her own screaming pulse.

“So, um, just a table for two?” the hostess asked, holding up a pair of menus.

Hesitating for only a moment, Elizabeth turned and stormed back outside, nearly running all the way to the car.

“Dr Weir, wait!” Cam jogged after her, placing a hand on her shoulder, only to have it quickly thrown off. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We can go back to the SGC. I always liked beef stroganoff better anyway.”

Curling up in the seat, Elizabeth rested her forehead on her knees and tried to catch her breath, tried to stop the tears and the full-body shakes. The heels of her hands were pressed against her ears as if that would stop the sound of the boy’s voice: ‘Eaten by a vampire.’ The ironic part was, it hadn’t even been a Wraith. Just another human device.

For once, Cam decided silence was the more prudent course, keeping the radio down low and refraining from joining in the chorus. It was a struggle to keep his eyes on the road and watch his passenger from the periphery, making sure she didn’t take a turn for the worse. The urge to reach over and take her hand made him grip the steering wheel even more firmly, remembering how his last attempt at physical contact had been rebuffed. As much as Cam could have strangled that kid, the only person he was angry at was himself for allowing himself to forget that the rest of the world was not the SGC.

When he pulled into the parking spot vacated less than an hour before, Weir didn’t wait for him to shut off the engine before hopping out the door and making a beeline for the elevator. But she was forced to wait for the Colonel, having no pass of her own to get under the mountain.

“Are you alright?” Cam finally asked. He received only a curt nod in response. “Look, Elizabeth, I’m really sorry-”

Her hand shot up to stop his apologies. _I’m fine_.

When they exited into the corridor, Cam turned right, Elizabeth left. “Aren’t you coming to lunch?”

But she never paused in her tactical retreat towards the infirmary, stopping short to slip into the bathroom for female personnel.

“God dammit.” Being raised right, Mitchell couldn’t bring himself to cross the forbidden barrier that had been in place since kindergarten.

“Problem, Colonel?”

Relief in the form of an astrophysicist. “Carter, you have an impeccable sense of timing.”

“Men’s facilities are a little further down the hall, Cam.” She was being facetious, but was concerned when she didn’t get a rise out of him. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh, I took Dr Weir to that steakhouse in town, thought she might like something different for lunch. But I wasn’t thinking, and she’d taken her scarf off, and there was this little kid… He didn’t mean anything mean by it, you know how kids are-”

“Oh.” Not really. Cassandra was as close to understanding kids as Sam came, and she didn’t compare. “So things didn’t go well and…”

“And now she’s in there, and I can’t go in there.”

Remembering some of what she knew about Elizabeth before she arrived in the SGC, Sam swallowed a sense of dread and pushed in, relieved to find nothing more serious than a slightly bedraggled doctor of philosophy trying to wash away the tears and pain marring her face.

“Hey,” Carter said, pulling several paper towels from the dispenser and handing them to Elizabeth to dry her face. “Do you want to talk about?”

The sharp look instantly made Sam cringe. “I’m sorry. Just…habit to ask, I guess.” She really wasn’t good at this, and while she was pretty sure there was no way Dr Weir could find anything to hurt herself with in the women’s bathroom, she didn’t want to leave her here, either. “So, since you didn’t eat lunch, do you want to come with me to get something?” A shake of the head. “Okay. Would you prefer to just go back to the infirmary?” Another declination. And other than the infirmary or the mess hall, there was really no place for Elizabeth to be.

Leaning forward, she exhaled slowly on the mirror, creating a little cloud on which she wrote: _Alone_.

“I don’t think Dr Lam or General O’Neill would like that very much.”

Elizabeth knew. She just…wanted to be able to take a shower, change her clothes, cry without witnesses. She was more lonely with her keepers around than she’s ever been when actually alone in her room. Leaning heavily against the countertop, Elizabeth let her head drop and more tears fall.

“Colonel Carter?” There was a knock from the other side of the door, and without waiting for a response, Dr Lam and two nurses barged in, ready for a fight that wasn’t waiting for them. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” Sam said quickly, holding up a hand to stave off the advance of the medical team, seeing the fear on Elizabeth’s face reflected in the mirror. “I was just going to take Dr Weir to one of the VIP rooms to lay down for a little while.”

“She has a bed in the infirmary,” Carolyn reminded her sternly. She didn't like having the lives of psych patients on her conscious; wounds she could handle, bleeding she could control, but emotions were a mostly untrod territory.

“I just thought it might be…quieter in another room.” Lowering her voice and flicking her gaze over to the diplomat and back to the CMO, Sam hoped her point was getting through. “Maybe she would sleep better.”

The doctor and the Lieutenant Colonel were locked in an unspoken debate that involved nothing more than micromovements of facial muscles. Carolyn was the one who finally relented. “Maybe a private room could be prepared.”

Elizabeth had stopped listening after the arrival of her jailers. Instead, she stared vacantly at the drain in the sink, wondering how far down the black hole went, and if the water ever made it back to the surface. Maybe it just disappeared deep into the earth forever, never again to participate in the Water Cycle. Drops of dihydrogen monoxide that once evaporated into the sky, joining the clouds for a ride before falling once more to earth. Rodney had explained it to her once during one of his melancholy rambles when he couldn't find anything else to complain about.

“Dr Weir.”

The hand at her elbow brought her back to the present, realizing Sam had said her name a few times already. “Come on. I’ll take you to your new room.”

Allowing herself to be led out of the bathroom and down the corridor, she briefly caught a glimpse of Colonel Mitchell, watching with heavy, sad blue eyes, and was sorry she had upset him. Like John, she’d only hurt those who were trying to help. Perhaps it was time to stop others from helping, for their own sake. This realization made Elizabeth draw away from Carter, ensuring there was a barrier of air between her a potential victims.

“I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable here,” Sam said cheerfully, trying to hide her disappointment at not receiving a return smile. A stony exterior had settled over Dr Weir’s features, eliminating all signs of any emotion. “Can I get you anything?”

 _No._ Without looking at her guide, Elizabeth slipped off her boots and crawled on top of the covers, still wearing her zippered jacket. Using the hood to cover her face and curling on her side, she willed herself to succumb to the exhaustion engulfing every fibre of her bring.

Sighing, Sam closed the door and looked at Carolyn sadly. “She’s not getting better, is she?”

“Physically, she’s stable,” Dr Lam admitted, burying her hands in her lab coat pockets. “There’s no reason to keep her here any longer. Tomorrow I’ll make the arrangements to have her sent to Willoughby State hospital.”

“Keeping her locked up here wasn’t helping. How would locking her up there be any better?”

Carolyn shrugged. “No one is saying it will. The only person standing between Dr Weir and getting better is Elizabeth Weir.”

“Does she know that?”

“Unfortunately, yeah, I think she does. There is nothing and no one more difficult for a patient to fight than themselves.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Dr Preston?... Dr Preston?... Earth to Eleanor!”

Snapping back to the present, the psychologist looked up from the intricate pattern of circles she’d been mindlessly drawing on her legal pad. “I’m sorry, Colonel, you were saying?”

“I wasn’t saying, I was asking: How is your newest patient?” Colonel Dr Damien Lunares looked pointedly at the greenest of his doctors, frowning: he was not a man who liked to repeat himself. “John Sheppard?’

“He is…presenting a challenge. Wilful, angry, and not interested in changing. I’d like to consider starting him on a course of SSRIs, sir; he’s showing marked weight loss and withdrawal. And he’s not been very responsive to any orders because, well, in his own mind, he’s resigned from the Air Force and doesn’t have to take orders any longer. Sometimes it seems like he doesn't even know what planet he's on.” Eleanor capped her pen. “I haven’t been able to redirect his attention into any positive outlets.”

“Tell him if he doesn’t fight this, the terrorists win.” Major Richard FitzPatrick only had one method of treatment, unchanged in a decade of practice.

“He’s not here because of any terrorist attack,” Dr Preston replied coolly. “At least, I don’t think so. I don’t know who was behind the attack that injured the diplomat he was protecting.”

“What, that’s it?” FitzPatrick scoffed. “Someone got hurt and now a Lt Colonel in the US Air Force can’t be bothered to do his job anymore?”

“If only everything was so simply drilled down, Richard, we could have them all back on the battlefield in a week, staring down bullets like they were butterflies.”

Colonel Lunares held up his hand for silence. “You seem to have gotten more background out of Sheppard than the Air Force brass were willing to hand over. What do you see as the root of the Lt Colonel’s sudden disinterest in serving his country?”

“That part is relatively easy to identify: A profound sense of guilt, and of failure. Sheppard wasn’t serving his country; he was serving Elizabeth, someone I think he loved very much.”

“Who is Elizabeth?” the department chief asked, genuinely curious. Romantic love was not often the source of anguish for his patients, but it was not unheard of. And the Colonel hated it, because overcoming a lost paramour always presented a greater challenge that overcoming a lost limb. No prosthetic existed for the soul. 

Eleanor could only shake her head. “I have no idea, sir.”

“Well, figure that out, and you might have a place to start. Dismissed.”

*******

Consciousness was slow to return, and only made itself known because of the discomfort spreading through her body. Her shoulders hurt, as did her right hip; her ears and nose were cold, and her mouth felt tortured by desertification. If she had the capacity, she would have moaned as she rolled onto her back, alleviating the pressure points of a too-long maintained position.

How long had she been asleep? And was she hearing…birds? A mile underground?

Then she remembered, shooting up in bed with a start.

This wasn’t Stargate Command. They had come to her in the morning, told her that she was being sent to Willoughby State Hospital for treatment. And she panicked. Because she had been there before, even if it was only in her own mind, a nanite-induced nightmare. How could they do this to her? How could they send her back into that torturous realm of self-doubt and insanity? Was it possible she was still there, that she never woke up?

She fought them. Hard. That was why her arms hurt, pulling free from Dr Lam’s minions, only to be grabbed again and again until they had her on the ground and something sharp found its way into the fleshy part of her right hip. Now she was here, back where she had been during one of the worst days of her life. Unless this was still the same day…

The room, though, was not what she expected, not what she remembered. The walls were a soft blue, broken up with ridiculous motivational posters hung on either side of the door, a door of wood, not steel. The bed was a proper box spring, not a hospital gurney. Grey linen curtains across the window kept out some of the light, but there was also a nightstand with a reading light, holding a couple of books and the watch that normally occupied her left wrist. Reaching out, she turned the stack of books to read their spines, realizing none of them were hers: _Man’s Search for Meaning,_ _Dao De Ching_ , _Meditations_ , and _The Story of My Life_ by Helen Keller. The last seemed like a bad joke in poor taste. Picking it up, Elizabeth hurled it at the little sink area, knocking over a plastic cup holding a toothbrush.

Before she could pick up something else to throw, there was a knock at the door, which promptly opened without waiting for a response.

“Dr Weir?” The dark face that appeared around the edge smiled at her, warm brown eyes and impish grin nothing like the nanite-generated Dr Fletcher. “I was wondering when you might wake up. Mind if I come in?”

It didn’t seem like she had much of a choice in the matter, and gave an uncommitted shrug.

The man wasn’t very tall, carrying a little extra weight that seemed to mimic the softness of the personality he exuded. His head was shaved, but it didn’t make him look severe, just older than he probably was, because his face was too smooth and gaze too bright to belong to anyone out of their thirties. Grabbing the chair tucked into the small desk, he straddled it and leaned over the back, holding out a hand. “Dr Demarius North. Pleased to meet you.”

Though she hesitated, his offered palm didn’t waiver, waiting until she took it and offered a weak shake, which seemed to satisfy him.

“The Air Force docs who dropped you off said they might have gone a bit overboard with the sedative they gave you, but judging from the black eye I saw on one of them…you might have deserved it.” Had she really hit one of the SGC personnel that hard? She couldn’t remember. “A nice General by the name of Jack told me to tell you he’s sorry about all of this, and that he’ll be stopping by later in the week to check on you. Nice enough fellow, but I get the feeling that if we don’t take care of you properly, everyone here will be sorry for it.”

Yeah, that sounded like Jack.

“So I wanted to go over a few things, some of the rules of the programme and how Willoughby works. The first is: No hiding. And I don’t just mean physically. Don’t hide your feelings from us, or yourself, because it won’t help. Don’t hide your pills, or your food, or your body.” Reaching out once more, Dr North took her hand in his and turned it over to expose her scarred wrist. “We want to make sure this doesn’t happen again. As a level one patient, you’re going to have daily physicals from a nurse and supervised meals; your weight has become a bit concerning. Over time, though, you can gain more privileges, more privacy. Do you understand?”

What was there to not understand? She was a prisoner, same as before, just above ground this time. And without nanites in her head. If there hadn’t still been drugs in her system, Elizabeth might have been more inclined to anger, but weariness was seeping in once more, dispelling any feelings about her situation at all.

“You look tired, Dr Weir. But I’d like you to come have dinner with me before you go back to bed.” Standing up, Demarius returned the chair to its proper place and held up a soft white rove for his patient to slip into. She didn’t move, and a hurt look came over his jovial features. “Please, Elizabeth.” He didn’t add any threat, but it hung there in the air, the ways he could force her to cooperate.

Throwing off the light quilt, she let him help her to stand and slip her arms into the terrycloth robe. If nothing else, she was still cold. And thirsty.

“I noticed you weren’t too fond of Helen Keller’s autobiography.” Dr North kept an elbow linked with Elizabeth’s, as if escorting a date and not a patient. “I hope you will still consider giving it a chance; she really was quite extraordinary. I like to give a little assigned reading to new arrivals, get them to start thinking outside of themselves and consider their larger place in the universe.”

She nearly tripped over the slightly too large slippers, feeling the words punch at her heart. _I had a larger place in the universe. Larger than you’ll ever know. And I lost it._

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” There was no polite-for-the-sake-of-bring-polite in her doctor’s tone; he genuinely did seem concerned.

 _I’m fine._ She made sure he could see her face and read her lips before resuming her course, but turned quickly to blink away the threatened tears.

“General O’Neill was kind enough to fill me in on a few particulars, though a lot of your file was incomplete. He said you have a mother nearby, but no other family or friends that he knows of. Your mother knows you are here and has been advised that she can write you, and eventually visit, but is there anyone else you would like us to contact?”

A shake of the head. Who else was there? Simon? She didn’t even know where he was any more. Former colleagues before her Atlantis days were few and far between, and she would actually prefer to not see any of them again. At this point, even seeing her mother did not seem enticing. Katherine would be so worried, then she would find the scars on her wrists and be so disappointed, like she was when she found Elizabeth emptying the mostly alcoholic contents of her stomach into the toilet after a party in tenth grade.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’d be happy to help track them down a make a phone call.” Dr North was a nice enough fellow, but there was no chance in hell he could possibly understand where she had been, what she had done, and how she had lost it all.

Guiding her to an empty chair at a table already occupied by three people, the psychologist made the required introductions. “Everyone, this is Elizabeth. She just arrived this morning from Colorado. Due to an accident, I’m afraid regular conversation is out of the question, but I know you’ll all find a way to make her feel welcome. Elizabeth, this is Benny -” Early twenties, hair already greying, gaunt, and fingers holding a crayon like he desperately needed a cigarette “- Carol -” Old enough to be Benny’s grandmother, white roots showing through the last auburn dye job undoubtedly done before her sectioning “- and Ajax -“ Her own age, maybe, but his Mediterranean features were timeless, even handsome, and his smile stirred a little flutter in her chest. “I’d like the three of you to help settle her in, make her better acquainted with how your average day looks.” Raising a hand at one of the orderlies, another tray appeared on the table. “Eat up. I’ll be back in a little while.”

All four patients stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence, until Mother Carol took the lead. “I know it’s a bit awkward, dear, but you’ll get used to things.” She spoke with the passé Mid-Atlantic accent of Golden Age Hollywood, derived from too many Grant and Hepburn films. “I’ve been here loads of times, but it always takes a few days to settle back in. Believe you me, though, the food has improved tremendously. And the drugs.”

“But they banned indoor smoking,” Benny growled, tapping his crayon against the Formica top until it snapped. Another immediately appeared from this robe pocket. “How is Valium a better more natural treatment than a fucking cigarette?”

“Language, Benny.” Ajax had a slight accent to go with the exotic features, a likely first-generation transplant from the cradle of Western civilization. “Forgive him. He found a pack of cigarettes in one of the nurse’s jackets and smoked the whole package before anyone could stop him. Now he must get it out of his system all over again. His mood will improve by the end of the week.”

Elizabeth nodded in understanding, attention focused on using her fork to push a pile of peas between the layers of her lasagne.

“Best to just eat it, dear, or they’ll make you sit here half the night just like your parents used to.” Carol’s plump features were a sure sign that she knew this rule well. “No walk outside, no TV time.”

“And no moving up another level.” Disgruntled Benny mechanically masticated the food in such a way that everyone in a five-mile radius could see him chew each molecule. “Just gotta give in to the fucking man, do what he says, earn the freedom the Constitution made you think you already had.”

Ajax reached over and took a large scoop of his friend’s veggies. “Forgive him for being such a stereotype, Elizabeth, but the disaffected revolutionary is Benny’s best character.”

“I’m not a fucking character, you olive-eating butt munch.”

“Boys.” Like Dr North, Carol had a way of inducing compliance without threatening. She was apparently the grand doyen of Willoughby. “Honestly, Elizabeth, it’s not that bad. Just gotta learn to turn that frown upside down. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems.”

 _Spoken like someone who never met a Wraith._ Elizabeth shoved a mouthful of congealed lasagne into her mouth.

*******

John was bored. He didn’t know what to do with himself. But he was also too tired to find something to do. It was Earth. He didn’t know what to do on Earth any longer. This wasn’t his home; he didn’t belong here. He wondered how Elizabeth was doing.

Sitting in the day room with a legal pad and a non-toxic crayon, he scribbled mindlessly, thinking and not thinking at the same time.

“What’s that, Picasso? A well?” Karikos wheeled himself up next to the table and pulled the drawing out from under John’s hand.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, grabbing it back and crumpling the paper into a tight ball.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” the Marine said, flipping through the other scraps of lined yellow paper, each showing a rough approximation of the Stargate and various Gate symbols scratched around it. “Don’t let Doc Preston see this, or she’ll think you’re actually coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. You almost drown or something?”

John pulled the other pages towards him and crumped them all. “Not as I recall.”

“Now you sound like a damn politician.” Private Karikos looked at him in disgust, wheeling backwards. “Guess that comes with being an officer.”

That status had kept John separated from many of the other patients, among other things. He hadn’t been in the Middle East lately, couldn’t tell them where he had been, couldn’t show them any external scars. The only thing he had in common with them was the nightmares, short bouts of sleep interrupted by shouting and waking in a cold sweat. Frustrated, John swept his hand across the table, knocking the papers and crayons on the floor.

“Colonel Sheppard!”

God dammit. Turning around, he saw Eleanor Preston standing in the doorway, frowning. Cocking an eyebrow, John gave her the ‘What are you going to do about it’ look he’d had a lifetime to practice.

Strolling easily across the grubby linoleum, ignoring the stares of every other patient, the psychologist knelt and picked up a few of the scattered sheets, but didn’t take her gaze off the patient. “Would you come with me, please?”

The ‘Oooohs’ that filled the day room were reminiscent of being called to the principal’s office in second grade, and John felt an unaccustomed blush creep up his neck. Lowering his head and burying his hands in his pockets, he followed, partly out of curiosity, partly out of boredom, and greatly to escape the fellow inmates. Dr Preston said nothing and never looked back as she led the way through the off-white corridors, not to an office or therapy room, but out into the garden. Raising a hand, John covered his sensitive eyes, temporarily blinded by a sun he was not accustomed to seeing.

“Come on, over here.” Taking his arm, Eleanor led the Colonel over to a teak picnic table that had seen better days, thankfully shaded by a tall dogwood.

Taking a seat, John shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid any splinters in sensitive regions. “What’s up, Doc?”

Uncrumpling the pages and smoothing them out over the rough table top, Eleanor smiled at him. “Do you know why we leave out the paper and crayons, Colonel Sheppard?”

“Because we would stab each other with coloured pencils and eat any markers?” he guessed; facetiously, yes, but it also seemed logical.

“Because we want you to be bored. We want to see what you do when you brain isn’t being actively forced to think about your past.” From her pocket, the doctor drew out another colourful scribbling from a few days before, this one also featuring a puddle of blue silhouetting a stick figure in red. “So what is your brain doing when you aren’t thinking, Colonel? What is this?”

“The yellow crayon was broken, so I made the sun blue.”

“This isn’t a sun. You and I both know that. Were you stationed near a body of water? Were you stranded at sea?” A shake of the head. “Was Elizabeth? Was Private Karikos right when he asked if someone drowned?”

“People don’t drown in water,” John mumbled. “They drown in blood.”

Well that was something. Eleanor kept pushing. “If it’s not the sun and it’s not water, then what is it?”

“It’s classified,” he said harshly.

Now his doctor was incredulous. “A ball of blue light is classified by the US Air Force?”

“I didn’t say it was a ball. A ball only has three dimensions.” John dug his nail under a loose piece of wood and pried it up, flicking it away into the grass.

“I didn’t know I needed to be asking about things with more than 3-dimensions.” Eleanor’s piqued interest drew John back into the present, reminded him of what he was and was not supposed to be saying.

“Forget it. I just…miss the ocean.” Maybe he did genuinely miss the ocean; maybe he missed it for her. Was she sleeping alright without it?

“And who is this?” Of course Dr Preston would point at the red stick figure with the curly brown hair. “Is this Elizabeth after she was hurt? By the ocean?”

“No, of course not. Red is just…her thing.” But there had been so much blood. Both times.

Eleanor sighed, frustrated. “You’re not making this very easy for me, Colonel Sheppard.”

“I can’t give you what you aren’t authorized to know, Doctor.” He nodded at the papers on the table. “You would be best to burn those and forget you saw them.”

Well now that was definitely something she was not going to do. In her office that night she scanned the pictures and uploaded them in an email to an old classmate who had always been a good sounding board for problem cases.

_Hey Demarius, I’ve got this patient absolutely making me nuts…_

*******

“Are you sure she is the one we want?”

“Absolutely. She’s the proof we need.”

“You realize if you’re wrong-”

“I’m not. She’s going to be the one to tell the world we’re not alone. And we’ll never have a better chance to grab her than now.”

"But the other one, the one with the picture-"

"Is locked up in a military hospital. Which would you rather go to the trouble of getting? Picks your battles, paisan. She's the one."


	7. Chapter 7

“You drink that coffee likes it’s the most precious thing in the universe.”

Elizabeth looked up at Dr North and offered a weak smile. How could she tell him it was? How could she tell him what it was like to be three million light years away and running out of coffee? He would never know what a cup of Athosian tea tasted like, and wishing the entire time you were sipping it that it was Arabica. So all she gave him was a weak smile and a nod.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Another nod. He always asked, which was kind of him, but Elizabeth suspected that even if she didn’t agree he would continue to stand and speak to her.

“It’s nice to see your appetite returning.” Never mind she only cleared her plate because Mama Carol had told her of the unnecessary unpleasantness if she did not. “I’d like to see you writing more in your journal, though. Or at least writing something legible.” Demarius handed back the cheap marble composition notebook she wrote in every day, a compromise for her non-vocal participation in therapy. She couldn’t help the Ancient dialect that crept in when she wanted to write what she was truly thinking and feeling. “I know you’re an expert in several languages, but I can’t make any sense of what you’ve got in there. Secret code?”

Elizabeth shrugged. It was a good enough explanation as any.

“Well, if you’re feeling up to it, there is a General Jack O’Neill who would like to say hello.” Tensing, Elizabeth resisted her first instinct, to send him away. But her second desire was to hear a familiar voice, to look into the eyes of someone who understood what it was like.

_Yeah. Okay._

“Excellent.” Getting to his feet once more, Dr North took her elbow, not controlling, but gentlemanly, and lead her to one of the private counselling rooms.

“Dr Weir. Wonderful to see you again.” That cheeky smile and mischievous glint in the eye; it seemed being part-Imp was almost a prerequisite for the US Air Force. Looking over her shoulder at Demarius, he dismissed the man in Jack O’Neill fashion: “Thanks, Doc. I’ve got my own straight jacket if I need it.”

Once she heard the door close behind her, Elizabeth eased herself down into the chair across from her visitor and waited.

“Sooooo…How ya been?”

_Seriously, General?_

Jack waved away the question. “I’m sorry. It seemed like the right thing to say. But Doctor-Patient confidentiality keeps even Air Force Generals in charge of top-secret organizations from knowing how someone is doing. And I do genuinely want to know how you are, Elizabeth. We all do. Dr Lam and Mitchell felt terrible about how things…went.”

 _Yeah…Sorry about that._ Even if Jack couldn’t read the ‘sorry’ on her lips, her pained look would have told him enough.

“No, we – I should apologize. I didn’t realize what this place meant to you, after what happened.” He had read the official report about Dr Weir’s nanite infection, but had missed the part about Willoughby State Hospital. The nanites hadn’t invented that part, instead drawing on her own knowledge of the DC area. “We shouldn’t have sprung this pace on you at 0700 after a bad day, or at the least, should have picked a different facility. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

She gave him a noncommittal nod. It didn’t matter anymore; what happened had happened and couldn’t be undone. Just like Sevinias.

“Hey.” Jack reached out with a gentle finger to turn her face back toward him. “You’re going to get through this. We’ll figure this out.”

Oh God. This was what she said to John after he was infected by the Aratus retrovirus. Now she knew exactly how he felt. _You really suck at the bedside manner thing._

The General furrowed his brow, unsure of what she meant, but figuring it wasn’t good. “Maybe we should just skip to the Yes/No questions. Are they treating you alright?”

 _Yes._ What else was she going to say? Having never been in a real-world mental institution before, she didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for how she should be treated. But no one was trying to zap her brain or tell her Atlantis wasn’t real.

“Would you like me to arrange a visit with your mother?”

Sharp intake of breath. It was too soon, too much like before. She didn’t want to be seen like this. _No._

“Ok, maybe later. But she did give me a letter for you.” Reaching into his uniform pocket, Jack pulled out a folded envelope and slid it across the table to her. “She’s worried. She knows you were hurt, and we’ve told her what we could. But I hope you’ll let her see you soon. I don't get paid enough to keep worried mothers at bay.”

Hand shaking, Elizabeth picked up the envelope, but only to tuck it away in her robe for later. She didn’t want anyone around when she read it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to read it.

“Are you getting better?”

That question caught her up short. Was she? Was she getting better? It didn’t feel like it. She didn’t feel much of anything, really. Was that better?

 _I don’t know._ A shrug.

It wasn’t what Jacked wanted to hear, but it was what he expected. “Well, at least you aren’t lying. That’s good. They can’t help if you aren’t telling them the truth. Or yourself. Just…give it time.” He stood up to go, but Elizabeth reached out to grab his hand.

_How’s John?_

“I’m sorry?”

Thinking for a minute, she used her fingers to draw her right ear into a point. _John._

Now he understood. “You know, that guy really does have funny ears. He’s…stubborn. Like you. I think if I asked him the same questions, I’d get the same answers. I’ll tell him you asked when I see him.”

Seizing the opportunity, Elizabeth excitedly held up a finger for the General to wait and hurriedly scribbled on a page in her notebook before tearing it out and folding it up.

_Could you give him this?_

Jack made a show of not trying to read the missive, but put it in the same pocket that held the previous letter. “Sure, not a problem.” Hesitating a moment, he reached out and gave her shoulder a pat. “Get better, Elizabeth. We need you.”

*******

“You see someone on the street, someone you once loved, someone who once hurt you, or even looks like someone who hurt you. What is the first thing you do?”

Group therapy was quite possibly a worse hell than…Hell.

“Throw a grenade and tell that bitch she got what was comin’ to her!”

“Shut up, Junior, no one has ever even liked you!”

“Gentlemen, please.” Eleanor looked around her misfit group. “As good as it is to laugh and blow off some steam, it is important to genuinely think about these things, because it will happen. The world outside these walls is no safe space for your emotions. You are going to find yourself constantly confronted by people, sights, sounds, and situations that will set you off. And your goal is to not go off. You can’t stop the rest of the world, but you can stop yourself.”

“Can I just turn and walk away?” Karikos asked, then smirked, looking down at his wheelchair. “Well, roll away in style.”

“If removing yourself is the only way to feel in control, then do so,” she agreed. “But that should only be the beginning. The ultimate goal is for you to be able to face these things without fear or anger, to turn those emotions into something more manageable, even positive.”

Though it was only a diagnosis given in childhood, John Sheppard would likely have fallen under the category of Oppositional Defiance Disorder, an unusual condition for someone in the military who was generally expected to do what others told him. What Dr Preston was saying, though, was that John Sheppard should be happy, and he didn’t like anyone telling him how to feel. He’d rather be sent into enemy fire without backup than have someone tell him to cheer up.

“Tell me something that makes you afraid, Private.”

Karikos looked uncomfortable, tapping the arm of his wheelchair for a minute. “I guess…arriving some place I can’t get into. Like, there’s only stairs.”

Eleanor nodded in understanding. “Instead of being afraid of the places you can’t go, think about all of the places you can go. Almost everything is wheelchair accessible these days, and if you are going someplace new, just call and ask. Maybe you can’t be as spontaneous any longer; maybe your life is going to take a little more planning, but that doesn’t mean you have to be afraid of it.” She looked over at John. “What about you, Colonel? What makes you nervous?”

 _Wraith. Genii. Asurans. The IOA. Rodney McKay with an idea. Elizabeth Weir’s blood._ “I can’t.”

“What does that mean?” J.R. (better known as Junior) demanded. He had little tolerance for Sheppard’s officer status and made no show of hiding it.

“It’s classified.”

“Man, Sheppard, you say that about everything.” A Marine practicing with his new prosthetic lobbed a wadded ball of paper in his direction, missing by a good two feet.

“I only say it because it’s true.”

Dr Preston was not so easily deterred. “Could you try telling us something generic rather than specific. A sound? An object?”

“Failing.” He wasn’t sure why he said it, but after he did a hundred failures came to mind and he knew it was true. Gripping the cold metal seat tightly, he willed the images to go away.

“Success is not final; failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.” Eleanor cocked her head to the side when she got blank looks from her group. “Winston Churchill.”

“Racist bastard,” Junior mumbled. Someone had obviously done some reading beyond his high school history class.

“Perhaps,” the doctor conceded. “But he was right in that regard. Everyone fails at some point, Colonel Sheppard. But we can’t simply give up and die when it happens. There wouldn’t be a human left alive if that was so. You have to accept that at some point you – all of you – are going to fail at something. It’s the way of the world. But don’t let it stop you from living. Instead, tell yourself all the things you got right.”

Curling his fingers into the soft flesh of his palms, John felt a tension headache growing with the grinding of his teeth. “Failure is absolutely fatal, Dr Preston, especially in our line of work. It may not kill us…but it can kill others.”

Silence weighed down their little circle, everyone watching the battle of wills. Sheppard was a mystery to them; he didn’t talk about his past, but in this moment, they might finally learn something useful. “Did she die, Colonel Sheppard?”

“Nearly. She might as well have.” He closed his eyes, still seeing this glint of the razor, the red of open veins. “She certainly wishes she had.”

“But if she isn’t dead, then you haven’t failed, Colonel. Maybe you didn’t succeed, but you also didn’t fail.” Eleanor lowered her voice, not speaking as a psychologist to a patient, but one human to another that was hurting terribly. “Maybe the mission isn’t over, and your job is to go back and make sure you succeed.”

John snapped back in his chair. Was that it? Had he given up on Elizabeth too soon? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be here, but with her. Before he could respond, though, there was a knock at the door and an orderly popped his head in.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but there is a General O’Neill here for Lt Colonel Sheppard.”

“Jesus, Sheppard, how much brass are you planning to smother us with?” Karikos scoffed, rolling his eyes. “My own mother ain’t been by, but you’ve got Generals lining up to see you.”

Ignoring the joke, John jumped up to follow the orderly. Why was General O’Neill here? Had something happened to Elizabeth? To someone else from Atlantis? He actually stepped on the back of the orderly’s shoe, he was hovering so closely, wishing the man would pick up the pace. At least the Air Force blue dress uniform was easy to pick out, standing amidst a sea of white at the nurses’ station for this wing.

“General, did something-”

“At ease before you strain something, Colonel, please.” Jack waved away those standing within ear shot, desiring a brief, private conversation. “Nothing is wrong, before you get you uniform in any more of a twist. I just wanted to check on you and drop off a message from Dr Weir.” Holding out the folded notebook paper as a peace offering, he watched Sheppard try to act (badly) casual about, eager fingers nearly tearing the paper and wide eyes greedily trying to drink it all in at once.

_John – I want you to know that I don’t blame you. I hope you’ll come see me soon._

That was all. Hastily scrawled and not nearly enough to satisfy him. His face must have shown his disappointment, because the General gently knocked John’s hand, breaking his gaze from the crumpled paper. “Hey, she’s okay, Sheppard. She’s in a good place; the people at Willoughby are taking really good care of her.”

“Is she happy?”

“Are you?” Jack knew the answer, of course, to both questions. Silence echoed off the walls for several uncomfortable moments. “Look, I asked her if she wanted to see her mother, and she doesn’t. But she did ask about you. Maybe you could go see her?”

“Yes.” John answered more quickly than he intended, heart skipping a beat at the possibility of seeing Elizabeth again.

O’Neill nodded. “OK, I’ll see what I can do about springing you from her for a few hours next week. How does that sound?”

“Thank you, sir.”

*******

_My Darling Daughter,_

_I would have written sooner, but they didn’t tell me where you were. They told me you were hurt, sweetie, and that you’ve got a long road ahead of you. I’ve been so worried about you, but knowing you’re alive is all the relief I need. As long as you’re alive, everything will be alright._

_Sedgewick will be thrilled to see you. She likes me well enough, but I think you will always be her favorite human. She’s learned a new trick, though, clever girl: if she picks up one of my shoes or the remote, she knows I’ll get a treat out of the cupboard to open her mouth and drop it. So when you come home, make sure to hide your valuables from her!_

_The last few years have been hard with you gone for so long, but I hope I can see you soon. I’m so proud of you. People always ask me where you’ve gone, and I tell them ‘My daughter’s off in whatever part of the world that needs to be saved.’ No matter what has happened, I love you, and being your mother is the best gift I’ve ever been given. Whether you come home to stay for good, or just long enough to recover and get back out in the world, I’ll be here for you._

Elizabeth sat curled in the corner of her bed, sobbing inconsolably as she held the missive from her mother close to her chest. It was everything she had been afraid to read: pronouncements of love, acceptance…normality. That was the hardest part of all. The normal Elizabeth had known before Atlantis was not a normal she was willing to return to. She hated Earth for everything except her mother. She hated the land, hated being surrounded by so many people; she hated the food and the smell of the dirty air. She hated the sound of the traffic and birds; she hated the feeling of her scrubs and the sheets, the sight of the clear windows and plain walls.

“Hey, now, what’s this?” Ma Carol came in and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Elizabeth’s hair gently. “We’ve been wondering where you got to. What’s wrong? Did you get some bad news?” She reached for the letter, but Elizabeth just crumpled it into a tight ball, denying her answers. “What do you want, sweetheart? What can I get you?”

“What’s up with her?”

Benny stuck his head around the door frame, followed by Ajax.

“Is she coming to dinner?”

It was smothering. Elizabeth couldn’t stand it anymore. Spring up out of bed, she grabbed the books from the night stand and threw them at the guys. Her mouth was moving, shouting incomprehensibly at them. The books were followed by the bedside lamp, and then the little alarm clock. She wanted to destroy everything she hated. She ripped away the bedding, tore down the stupid posters, smashed the tiny mirror over the sink. This was the anger John Sheppard had tried to provoke. Not fear or sadness, but anger.

Elizabeth destroyed everything in her room that she could until multiple sets of hands dragged her to the floor and a sharp sting pierced the vein in her elbow.

Dr North looked over at the three patients now coward together in the hall way. “What happened?”

“She’s crazier than she looks,” Benny rather unhelpfully volunteered.

“She was crying and I was just trying to help,” Carol said defensively. “Then she just lost it.”

Looking around, Demarius picked up the balled letter and put it in the pocket of his lab coat for later review. But he smiled at his favorite patients. “Thank you for trying to help. I think she’s just had a bad day.”

Seeing Elizabeth safely carted off to one of the padded rooms without anything to destroy, the psychologist went to his office and opened his email.

_Hey Eleanor. It sounds like your patient is as stubborn as mine. She just got done ripping her room apart after some Air Force general dropped off a letter. I probably should have intercepted it, but frankly, I don’t want to go treading on any military toes. I know what you lot can be like ;)_

_Those pictures you sent were interesting. It’s almost like the accretion disk of a black hole. What kind of job did this guy have? Maybe I should try giving more crayons to my patients, though believe me, I think mine eat way more of them than yours._

_I still haven’t found a way to get through to Elizabeth. How do you treat someone who can’t talk to you? And the notebook I gave her is filled with a code I can’t decipher. I’ve attached the picture for you. See what you can make of it. Have any cryptologists among your patients?_

*******

Eleanor frowned at her computer screen. ‘Elizabeth’? Demarius had never said anything about his patient being called ‘Elizabeth’ before. And why was an Air Force General dropping off letters for a civilian? The same day one came by to see her own problem child?

Feeling her heart race, Eleanor opened the attachment and it didn’t take her long to find the correlation she was looking for: a series of symbols in heavy lines, each finished with a triangle set under a small circle. Clicking print, the doctor took the picture and hurried off to the day room, looking for a familiar head of untamable black hair.

“Colonel.” She shouted his name a little lounder than she intended, but excitement was overpowering propriety. Rushing over to him, she pulled out a chair and slapped the paper down in front of him, covering the crossword puzzle he was lazily completing. “Look at this for me, will you. Can you read this? Do you know what it says?”

His eyes were wide as he picked it up with a shaking hand. “Where did you get this?”

“So you do know what it is.”

“I might,” he whispered. It wasn’t just that he recognized the Ancient language; he recognized the handwriting. “How did you get this, Dr Preston?”

She continued to ignore his question. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you-”

“-Recognize it,” he snapped, finally looking from the journal page to his psychologist. “It doesn’t mean I ever learned to read it. Did General O’Neill give this you? What’s your security clearance?”

“Calm down, Colonel.” Eleanor held up her hands, surrendering. “I got it from a colleague that I frequently consult with, and when he sent me this, I recognized these symbols, something you scribbled on one of your blue wells. He called his patient ‘Elizabeth’. Is this her? Is this who you were telling me about?”

John clenched his jaw, determined not to answer. But then…why? What did it matter if Eleanor knew who Elizabeth was? Maybe it would help? Maybe she could tell Elizabeth’s doctor things that would help her. Maybe Dr Preston already knew how badly John had failed, so there was no point in hiding it any longer. “Yes, that’s her. Is she ok?”

Sighing, Eleanor looked up at the ceiling for the right words. “I would say she’s…doing as well as you. Which is to say…I don’t know. She doesn’t talk because she can’t. And you don’t talk because you won’t. Neither of you is making the practice of our profession very easy. It really would help if you could tell me what this says.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t read it. I only recognize a few words here and there. Elizabeth was the linguist; I was just the hired gun. But if you ask General O’Neill very nicely he might let you borrow Daniel Jackson or someone for an hour. Or…” John shifted uncomfortably, remembering what Dr Preston had said: Maybe his mission wasn’t done yet. “Or you could let me try to talk with her. Maybe I could help.”

“I can’t make that sort of promise, Colonel. It would depend upon my colleague’s opinion – and my own – as to whether putting you two in a room would help or hinder recovery.”

“But she wants to see me!” John reached into his pocket and pulled out the note he’d been keeping safe like a golden ticket. “See? She wants meet. We were together – we worked together – for a long time. She probably feels as far from home as I do.”

That caught Eleanor’s attention. “Why do you feel far from home, Colonel?” She watched him wiggle uncomfortably on his chair, looking around to see if anyone was listening (but with the Stanley cup final on the dayroom TV, not a soul was interested in any other topic). “If you don’t tell me, Colonel Sheppard, how can I help you? Or her?”

“Home is... Home used to be wherever I was. For the last few years, home has been…far away. But I was living and working with the best people I’ve ever known. When Elizabeth was hurt and they forced her to leave, I didn’t think I served a purpose there anymore. Without them, though, without her…”

“You don’t feel like you belong anywhere, and feel like you never will,” she finished for him. “The same as a lot of the other patients here. The stress and violence create a bond no one who wasn’t there will ever understand. Home is more than a physical location; it’s a feeling. A lot of the others out there were forced to leave the battlefield against their will; you chose to. Do you regret it now?”

“I…I wish we both could have stayed.”

“Does she know how you feel about her, Colonel?”

John shook his head. “She can never know.”

*******

Demarius North was supposed to have gone home hours ago. He was tired; he’d worked 12 straight days and now just wanted pizza and bed. But he was worried about Elizabeth. He was at his wit’s end trying to connect with her. The letter from her mother seemed encouraging, nothing that should have set her off. Maybe it was encouraging; not everyone went through the five stages of grief in the same order. Maybe she needed to experience Depression before Anger, and then Dr Weir might be in a position to work towards Acceptance.

Sighing, he switched off his computer monitor and rose with a loud crack in his back. He was too young for this to be happening yet. Eleanor was right: he needed to find a way to put a bit of exercise back into his daily routine. No one would once believe he had been a highly ranked wrestler back in high school until a sprained knee ended everything. Flipping off the desk lamp as well, he turned left instead of right, intent on seeing Elizabeth once more time before leaving for the weekend.

He wasn’t sure he should call her mother just yet, but if they had a good relationship – and from the letter, it seemed that they did – then she could only help.

“Hey, Dr North, what are you still doing here?” Two orderlies jumped up from the day room table where they had been playing cards.

“Just leaving, but I wanted to check on Elizabeth Weir. She’s still in the Soft Room, right?” It sounded much better than referring to the room as a ‘padded cell’.

“Yes, sir. Still sleeping off the Haldol as far as we can tell.”

Demarius nodded sadly. He hated – _hated_ – knocking out patients, but he’d seen too many staff and patients hurt by violence to avoid the practice. “Well, I want someone to check every fifteen minutes. When she wakes up, make sure she gets something to drink and a snack to help clear her system.”

“Will do, doc.” The second orderly, a former Army grunt, snapped off a mock salute. They kept him around more for his size than his manners.

Strolling down the hallway, Demarius stopped to pull back the old-fashioned plate covering the window to the Soft Room, expecting to see his patient curled on the floor. If she was cold, he might see about bringing her a blanket. Maybe leave a bottle of water anyway, in case the card game became too intense to the quarter-hour checks.

But the room was empty.

Elizabeth Weir was gone.  
 


	8. Chapter 8

The four MPs trailed after an Air Force general who ignored everything and everyone else around him, eyes locked straight ahead as he strode quickly through Walter Reed. It was still an hour before sunrise, but there was no more time to waste. Enough time had been wasted already by people who didn’t want to believe what was right in front of them.

Someone had taken Elizabeth Weir.

A tired young nurse jumper to her feet the minute she saw the entourage. “General-”

“Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Where is he?”

“General O’Neill?” Eleanor had been on call all night and was hoping to go home for a few hours sleep. “What are you doing back here, sir?”

“Sheppard. We need to take him into protective custody. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“Classified.”

Lord how she hated that word. But she was suddenly worried. “Is it…is it because of Dr North’s emails, sir? Because of the code?”

Jack furrowed his brow, confused. “How do you know Dr North? What code?” The young woman suddenly looked terrified, wringing her hands and wishing she had never opened her mouth. “What do you know, Preston?”

“I’m…not sure what I know,” she said softly.

“Well you better start talking right now, or these burly-looking gents are going to throw you in the back of a jeep and haul your ass to Cheyenne Mountain for interrogation. So what do you know, and why do you think the disappearance of Elizabeth Weir has anything to do with a code.”

“I, um…” Reaching into her pocket, Eleanor handed over the printout from Demarius with the strange journal pages. “Dr North and I were in school together and frequently consult with each other on difficult cases. He sent me that just today, saying he had a problem patient who seemed to be writing in some code, hindering his treatment of her because she’s mute.”

“Dr Weir.”

Eleanor shrugged. “I only learned her name today. Elizabeth. In my conversations with Colonel Sheppard, I knew he had been protecting someone he loved named Eliz-”

“‘Loved’?” Jack echoed sharply.

Now the young psychologist looked panic stricken. “You – you didn’t know? I’m sorry, sir, maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this. I don’t want to violate doctor-patient confidentiality. Not after I’m finally making progress with Colonel Sheppard.”

“Oh, no, Dr Preston, I think you’re going to tell me every last piece of information I need to find Elizabeth Weir and Sheppard’s feelings be damned.” He held up the page of familiar text. “So Dr North sent you this. How did you connect it to Sheppard?”

“He, um, he draws these pictures.” Eleanor handed over another paper, the blue circle that meant nothing to her, but obviously did to the General. “I recognized some of the symbols or letter or whatever they are that he sometimes scribbles. I only made the connection between my patient and Dr North’s today, sir. If our correspondence had anything to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance, I’m sorry.”

But the General waved away her concerns. “It’s unlikely you had anything to do with this, Preston, however, I’m not taking any chances. You and Sheppard are both coming with me.”

“Now?’

“This minute.” He looked her up and down. “Good, you appear ready to go.”

“My concern isn’t for me, sir, but my patient.” Despite her trepidation about jumping into the deep end of government secrecy, Eleanor felt a higher obligation. “I’ve been making progress with Colonel Sheppard, working to move him past his profound sense of guilt. If you tell him about this-”

Jack was growing frustrated. “I don’t have a choice but to tell him about this, Doc, because otherwise the man is going to be damn confused as to why we’re hauling him out of here under armed guard. And I’m doing it because if they got to Dr Weir, they might be after him, too.”

“Who, sir?”

“Well, now, if I knew that, I’d be playing offense instead of defence, wouldn’t I? All I know for sure is someone or -ones got into a secure facility to take a woman who knows a whole lot of secrets, so I’m making sure they can’t double down on that threat. Now let’s go.”

*******

Awareness was slow to return, if by ‘aware’ one mean nothing more than gasping on hot, recycled air and feeling the extreme discomfort of being curled into a confined space. Elizabeth tried to stretch out, but quickly found little room to manoeuvre. At least her hands were bound in front of her, letting her pull the stifling sack from her head, though it did not much improve the situation. Sound was still muffled, and she was in near total darkness.

She tried to remember what had happened, but it was a blur. Two men, maybe orderlies, waking her up as they entered the padded room she’d been confined to. Humiliated and exhausted, Elizabeth made it clear she had no intention to fight, but they had grabbed her roughly anyway, pinning her to the floor as the smaller of the two stabbed a syringe into her arm without comment. She knew something wasn’t right, but blacked out before she could put any pieces of this puzzle together.

Trying to clear her mind, Elizabeth closed her useless eyes and focused instead on what she could feel: rough fabric on all sides, the sensation of movement, not just horizontally, but vertically now and then, and the smell of exhaust. Though she had never been in one before, she was pretty sure that this was what the trunk of a car would be like.

_I’ve been kidnapped._

The realization hit like a Wraith stunner. How had this happened? Or more precisely, why? This wasn’t Pegasus; she wasn’t a valuable hostage for the Genii or any number of other hostile races. Nor was she in the midst of negotiating anything on Earth. Not on any philosophical level, but based purely upon gamesmanship and economic theory, Elizabeth Weir’s life was utterly worthless. So why would anyone take her from Willoughby? How many people had even known she was there? Not many. And certainly none who wouldn’t simply come through the front door. None of this made sense.

Maybe it was mistake. Maybe her kidnappers thought she was someone else. That was actually a half-plausible explanation. From Ma Carol she knew that people of some political import – or their progeny – ended up in Willoughby from time to time due to its proximity to Washington DC. She searched her memory to see if she could remember any other patients named ‘Elizabeth’, or if there was anyone named ‘Weir’ currently working in the capital, but came up blank.

Did anyone know where she was? Did anyone even know she was gone?

When she had been held hostage by Kolya, Elizabeth had been able to remain composed because she knew John Sheppard was out there, planning her rescue. And when John had been taken by Ford, she never gave up looking for him, refused to entertain the notion that he was anything other than MIA. But now she didn’t have John. Or Rodney. Or Ronon or Teyla. Everyone was gone and she had no one.

Though it was pointless and self-indulgent, she cried. Maybe she cried because there wasn’t anything else she could do. Even if the car came to a complete stop and her captors wandered away, she couldn’t call for help and be heard by a passer-by. If she got out of the trunk and found a phone, how would she be able to call anyone? This wasn’t a world for the voiceless.

So she cried until she thought her head would explode from the pain and her lungs collapse from the effort to breathe through the sobs. Just when it seemed her mind would shut down once more, she felt the vehicle rumble to a stop, instantly setting her on high alert. She couldn’t make sense of the muffled voices from outside, of why it seemed to be taking so long for them to come get her. Maybe they didn’t intend to take her out of the car at all. Maybe they were just going to leave her here. If they realized they had made a mistake, maybe it would be easier to just burn the evidence.

Before her imagination could run any further afield, the trunk lid suddenly opened and the morning sun blinded her, making her wish for darkness again.

“Take her inside.”

“Why me?”

“Like you have to ask. Because you outweigh me by sixty pounds, you idiot, and it’s not all fat. Beside, you know I have an inguinal hernia. So for the love of the gods, Zack, just fucking pick her up and take her inside. It’s hot as balls, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I have a damn migraine.”

“Christ, Andy, don’t blow a fuse.”

Elizabeth felt the strong arms grab her none too gently and throw her over a broad shoulder, forcing the air out of her lungs and blood into her head. She couldn’t find the will to struggle because she could barely draw a breath. Just when it seemed like she would die from positional asphyxia and the heat beating down on her back, they entered a cooling shade and she was unceremoniously dropped onto a musty couch that made her eyes water.

“Dammit, would you be careful! What if you hurt her? Do you think we can just call a fucking doctor?”

Surprisingly soft hands took Elizabeth’s face and forced her eyelids open, making her look upon the voice known as Andy: blond hair fashionably spiked, eyes so pale blue as to be almost transparent, and chiselled features that had undoubtedly made many women swoon. “So sorry about all of this. My name is Andrew Fields, and this my friend, Zachary Kline. Can you tell me your name?” No response. “It’s not that we don’t know your name is Dr Elizabeth Weir. I’m just trying to assess any neurological damage. Do you know what day it is?” Still nothing. He was growing frustrated. “Dr Weir, this childish silent treatment is not going to help anyone. The sooner you start to cooperate, the sooner this will be over for you. At least tell me you understand that.”

After a moment, her mouth opened in the strange rictus of something resembling laughter, but there was no sound. She was shaking with hysterical amusement, but still there was no sound.

“What the hell? Zach, turn on the lights.” Pulling at the front of her scrubs, ripping the top, Andrew Fields realized fate was playing a horrible trick on him. His fingers dug into the scar tissue around her neck. “What-? Say something!” He demanded. When she didn’t stop her parody of laughter, he backhanded her, splitting her lip. And still she made no sound.

Zach peeked over his co-conspirator’s shoulder. “Oh. Shit. I don’t think she’s supposed to look like that, dude.”

“Ya think, you dumb fuck?!” Releasing his prisoner, Andrew started to pace the small room, hands clasped behind his back, mimicking the thoughtful poses of old heroes. “This is obviously…We’ve missed something. We know she could talk. Something’s happened since she came back to Earth.”

“Or something happened and they had to send her back to Earth,” Zach offered, sitting in a tattered recliner that in no way matched the couch.

Now Elizabeth stopped laughing; this comedy of errors suddenly wasn’t so funny. How did they know she’d been off earth? How did they know she was back? Or where she was? While it was obvious that she was indeed the intended subject of this kidnapping plot, she was back to not understanding how any of this had happened.

“So what are we going to do?” the more relaxed of the two conspirators continued. Zach was built like a linebacker, everything about him seemingly the opposite of Andy. “We obviously can’t film a confession or interrogation now. And no one will believe it if she just types it up. They’ll say anyone could have typed it.”

“Shut up and let me think!” Andrew barked. “We haven’t come this far to give up just because our first plan to explode the truth onto the world isn’t going to work. We still have her. We know she knows about the Stargate program. We know she’s been to another galaxy.” Elizabeth’s eye grew wide in shock as the young man ran through his list of highly classified global secrets. “We’re just going to have to reframe out questions. Maybe be a little more…theatrical.”

Grabbing a battered stool from what passed for a dining table, Andrew sat it down in front of Elizabeth, tiny black pupils laser focused on her. “Nod if you understand me.” A nod. “Were you injured?” _Yes._ “And now you can’t talk.” Another nod. “Were you the leader of a secret government program known as the Atlantis Expedition?” Nothing. “Were you once the leader of an Air Force installation known as Stargate Command?” Nothing. “You know, Dr Weir, it would be more believable if you at least shook your head and pretended to say ‘no’.” So she shook her head, and received a backhand for the effort. “That’s what will happen every time I know you’re lying to me.”

“Take it easy, Andy.” Official sidekick Zachary was starting to look distinctly uncomfortable. “Remember, we can’t call a doctor.”

“Shut up and let me talk.”

“You’re gonna have to, since she can’t.” As clever as it was, Andrew had little patience for his co-conspirator and cast a glance that could freeze steam.

Though her left ear was ringing and her cheek throbbing, Elizabeth didn’t dare take her eyes off the young man, tensed for another blow. He was apparently very much in earnest about using her to expose the Stargate program. The two considered each other intently, pale blue eyes threatening and green eyes daring; Elizabeth didn’t believe for a minute that either of these two was an actual killer. More like two boys who had captured an enemy and taken her back to their prison-fort where girls normally weren’t allowed. But they weren’t likely to ransom her for sodas and Hershey bars.

 _So what now?_ She asked, enunciating slowly and hoping he could follow.

“Do you know sign language?” Zach was full of hope, only to be disappointed when she shook her head.

“Fine,” Andy growled, pulling her roughing off the couch and dragging her over to the slightly tilted table and sitting her down in a mismatched chair. From an old school bag he pulled out a legal pad and three pens. “You’ve got a doctorate. I know you can write. So write.”

_What do you want me to write?_

“Don’t be any more difficult than you already have been. Tell me about the Stargate. Tell me about Atlantis.” From the backpack he also pulled out a small video camera, setting it on the table across from her. “And this way, no one can claim you didn’t write it.”

_No one will believe you._

“Leave that to me.” The smile he gave transmitted no warm. Reaching over, he tapped the yellow paper impatiently. “Now write.”

*******

“It’s been 18 hours. How do you not have anything yet? When did you lose her tracker signal?”

John Sheppard’s eye were bloodshot as he paced the ‘war room’ set up in General O’Neill’s Pentagon office, currently staffed by personnel with SGC clearance. The only person who looked calm – and thus completely out of place – was Dr Eleanor Preston, who had no idea what was going on, because she kept hearing terms that made no sense.

“Because protocol was to remove her tracker before releasing her to a civilian facility,” Jack grumbled, looking up from the screen in front of him. “Fewer questions that way. Though I suspect I will be strongly recommending we never do that again.” He turned to the balding man next to him. “Dr Lee?”

Bill sighed sadly and shook his head. “No, sir. It would have been easy if these guys – or girls, or whoever – had tried to be clever. If they had used an algorithm to disable the security system, given me something to backtrack, but they were rather crude. Just came up to the outer door in masks, used an industrial magnet – a bloody magnet! – to short the lock, and cut the ethernet cables to that section and *poof* no video. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do? I have nothing to work with here!”

“What about the _Prometheus_?” John was getting desperate, forgetting he had already mentioned this. “Can’t they tap into the global satellite net or something?”

“Sheppard.” General O’Neill’s voice wasn’t a warning, but a plea for the younger man to settle down. He was beginning to see what Eleanor had already hinted at, that John Sheppard was desperately in love with Elizabeth Weir. But that was a problem to be dealt with another day.

“Colonel.” Placing a tentative hand on his arm, Dr Preston led him out of the main office and into a small conference room where temperate coffee, water, and sandwiches sat neglected on a table. Closing the door, Eleanor took up position in front of it to make sure her patient didn’t pull a runner. “Talk to me, John.”

“What about?” he mumbled, picking up one of the sandwiches and sniffing it, as if that would tell him the bacteria count for each hour sitting in the open.

“For starters, what is _Prometheus_?”

“Big ship. Asgard technology. Usually orbits Earth, probably fighting the Ori right now. Ugly albinos. Trying to take over the galaxy. Usual stuff.”

Surprisingly, she wasn’t…surprised. It seemed logical, after everything else. “Okay, and what is it you do? For the Air Force?”

“Head of the military detachment on Atlantis base in the Pegasus galaxy.” He took a tentative bite of something that may have been chicken salad. Or ham salad. Tuna salad? Into the bin it went.

“Right, Atlantis. Of course. And, um…Elizabeth?”

“Head of the Expedition. The US cut a deal with the IOA, funding in exchange for a civilian leader.” He said it too nonchalantly, and suddenly felt bad. “I mean – I don’t mean for her to sound unqualified. She was – is – brilliant. There was no one more qualified. She wasn’t just an administrator; she made the deals that made sure we stayed fed, and when needed, she made the threats that kept us safe. Even from the Wraith that would have eaten us.”

Feeling a little lightheaded, Eleanor crept forward to take the nearest chair. “Wraith. What are those?”

“People eaters. I thought I made that clear.”

“Right, so you did.” She tapped nervously on the armrest. “And how long were you, um, away from Earth?”

“Took a year to re-establish contact. And once we had…neither of us felt like Earth was home any longer. Home was…wherever Elizabeth was. We stopped coming back here. When they said she was being relieved of command…the life went out of her.”

“And you,” the psychologist whispered. “After everything you’d been through together, staying without her seemed impossible.”

“Why is she gone?” There was something glistening in his eyes, a despair that refused to give itself any form by casting his gaze towards the ceiling and reabsorbing the emotion. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. Why would anyone take her?”

Before Dr Preston could try to formulate an answer she didn’t have, there was a knock at the door and a familiar face. “Eli?”

“Demarius!” Popping up from her chair, Eleanor threw herself into her friend’s arms, beyond relieved to have another normal person around. “I didn’t know they’d take you. I’m so sorry to have gotten you into this mess!”

“Ok, I’m not sure how any of this is your fault, but…ok.” The stout man looked over her shoulder at the scruffy Air Force Colonel. “Oh, is that, um, is he-”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Eleanor finally broke the hug and gestured towards her patient. “Dr Demarius North, Lt Colonel John Sheppard, although he’ll tell you he’s not a member of the Air Force, even if no one will accept his resignation.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one question down and about…fifteen to go. At least that.”

Dr Preston patted her friend’s shoulder. “Maybe it would help if I start with a question: Do you believe in aliens?”

*******

_Do You Believe in Aliens?_   
_What follows is a transcript of an interview conducted with Elizabeth Weir, American diplomat who disappeared from the face of the Earth three years ago, leader of a secret expedition to the lost City of Atlantis, not on this planet, but in a galaxy three million light years away. Find more details at FieldsofTruth.org._

_What is your name?_

Dr. Elizabeth Weir, PhD

_What is your title?_

I’m the civilian head of the Atlantis Expedition.

 _And precisely what is the Atlantis Expedition?_  
A joint US-IOA expedition to an alien city, what was historically known as Atlantis, located in the Pegasus galaxy after departing earth millions of years ago. I led a contingent of civilian scientists and researchers from over a dozen countries for three years to explore and develop these alien technologies.

_Who are these aliens?_

We call them the Ancients, the predecessors to humanity, who spread life across this galaxy and others. After a devastating war, they abandoned Atlantis and returned to Earth ten thousand years ago, all but dying out. Everything we know about the gods and myths of antiquity comes from them.

_How did you come to know about them?_

Several years ago I was briefly in charge of an Air Force agency known as the Stargate Program, located under Cheyenne Mountain. The Stargate is a piece of Ancient technology that allows for instantaneous interstellar travel via stable wormholes. This is what we used to get to Atlantis.

_And hundreds of other worlds, right?_

You already know that’s true, so why are you asking? What is the point of this?

 _Why aren’t you able to tell us this yourself, Dr Weir? Why do you need to write your responses?_  
[…..]  
_There is no point in wasting time, Dr Weir. We can sit here all day._

A negotiation went bad. On a planet called Sevinias. There was a piece of Ancient technology that we promised to help the Sevinians with, but because I wasn’t the one who could activate it – only a few people carry remnants of Ancient genetics that control their technology – I was seen as unworthy, a defiler of their Ancestral monument. They attacked, I was hurt. Is that enough?

_I don’t know why you’re being so reluctant to help, Dr Weir. Don’t you want the world to know the amazing work you’ve done, the sacrifices you’ve made? You’re a hero. Isn’t that better than being an enemy of the people, keeping them from the knowledge of their place in the universe?_

And what would you do with that knowledge? Why is it so important for you to believe in aliens?

_Because this world isn’t enough, and don’t try to tell me it is, or else you wouldn’t have left._

Look at me. I have no career, no friends, no voice. I was locked up in a mental hospital when you kidnapped me. Don’t forget to include that in your little web show.

*******

No one crowded around the monitor said anything for a full minute after the video ended.

“How long ago was this posted?”

That cold tone from the General always made Bill Lee stammer. “It was, uh, probably less than – I mean more than – a, uh, an hour. This is a repost, on Youtube. The uh, original, seems to be from this, uh, this conspiracy site, the Fields-of-Truth business.”

“Website don’t come from nowhere, Dr Lee. So I want to know who the hell is behind it in less than an hour. Understand?” It wasn’t really necessary to threaten, but it made Jack feel better anyway.

“Of – of course, General.” Pushing the glasses further up his nose, Bill started typing furiously while studiously avoiding the other man.

“Did you see the bruises?” Eleanor whispered.

“Of course we did,” John hissed, seeming to control his anger for a moment longer before suddenly grabbing a folding chair and making like a pro-wrestler towards the nearest computer screen, only to be tackled by a General, two psychologists, a computer scientist, and a few others he couldn’t identify.

“Easy, Sheppard.” Jack O’Neill used the flat of his hand to hold the other man’s head against the floor, not to stop him from getting up, but because he worried Sheppard would only knock his head harder against the old linoleum. “She’s alive. That’s what matters. She’s alive. Mitchell and the rest of SG-1 just got back to Earth and they’re already on their way here. We’ve got more than enough brain power to bring her home.”

Though there were a few more futile twitches from John, he finally relented, relaxing under the combined weight above him. Even as the bodies moved off, though, he still didn’t try to get up, eyes staring vacantly at a crack in the baseboard. Frowning, Jack dismissed everyone else in the room with nod, but Dr Preston read his look and knew she should stay.

“John?” Laying down on her side, Eleanor made sure that her face was all he could see. “John, I know you’re angry right now, possibly angrier than you’ve ever been in your life. But what I don’t think you realize is that you’re mad at yourself, instead of the people who did this. Because I think if you were angry at the right people, you wouldn’t be laying on this floor right now; you would be helping us to find who has Elizabeth. You told me your job was to protect her. So do it. Just because something bad has happened doesn’t mean you stop protecting her.”

“What am I supposed to do, Dr Brilliant? How am I supposed to help when she’s who-knows-where, being beaten by some crazy ass clown whose tinfoil hat came off?” Sheppard’s voice rose with each question. “How does he know about any of this?! How did he know about her?!”

“Maybe when you find the answer to that, you will know who to start looking for,” she said quietly, patting the back of the hand closest to her with a gentle smile. “But you aren’t going to figure out who that is by staring at the floor.”

John closed his eyes, trying to mentally erase the bruises on Elizabeth and recall the room surrounding her. “She’s someplace old. There was wood panelling, the kind used decades ago, with avocado paint. Whoever has her didn’t spring for the presidential suite. And they must…They didn’t know about her injuries or they would have had something better than pen and paper for her to answer with.” Eyes snapping open, John jumped to his feet. “They didn’t know. They asked her to explain what happened to her voice because they didn’t know. This isn’t anyone with genuine inside knowledge of the SGC or Atlantis; this could be…anyone. Anyone who’s read a copy of _News of the World_ or spends too much time on the internet.”

Thrusting a hand out for help, Eleanor let John pull her upright. “The paranoid I can help you with, Colonel. Not just anyone is going to believe in aliens and interstellar travel enough to commit multiple felonies. You are actually looking for a very particular sort of person.”

John actually smiled, possibly for the first time she had known him. “Well, then, come on, Agent Starling, give us a profile.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Is McKay ever going to come out of there?”

Ronon’s low rumble interrupted Teyla’s meditation, much to her annoyance, and he knew it. But his own bad mood and hers were part of the larger malaise around the city. Richard Woolsey was not necessarily a bad leader, per se, but no one could quite forgive him for not being Elizabeth Weir. At least Major Lorne was able to keep the military contingent in line, though only until the Colonel replacing him arrived with the Daedalus on its next run. No one was taking that news very well, either.

“Do you think he’s even still alive?” Realizing that Ronon was not going to take silence for an answer, Teyla got to her feet in one fluid motion and tied her hair up into a loose bun.

“I believe that Dr McKay is continuing his quest for a way to help Dr Weir,” she explained, walking over to the side of the gym to pick up a pair of Bantos sticks and tossing one to her friend before selecting another for herself. “It has been his way of coping with the changes to Atlantis.”

The Satedan grunted, unconvinced. “I hope it works. I don’t think I can take any more…changes.”

Teyla settled into a fighting stance and nodded her agreement. “Then the best way for us to help is to make sure Dr McKay remains undisturbed.”

"Fine, but I'm not taking Zelenka off world any more."

A smirk pulled at the Athosian woman's mouth. "I do not think he would let you, either."

*******

“The subject is most likely a young white male from a privileged background to have access to the kind of resources we’re seeing.”

“And he’s smart,” Demarius added, passing out copies of the profile he and Eleanor had spent all night compiling. “But not as smart as he thinks he is. That’s how you’re going to get him.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, ignoring the paperwork, figuring he would let the experts give him the necessary summary.

“He thinks he is smarter than everyone else. It’s why he felt bold enough to walk into Willoughby and take Dr Weir with a single accomplice. It’s why he advertises the fact that he’s got her all over the internet.” Eleanor frowned. “It’s also what makes him dangerous. If he feels that power slipping, I don’t think he’ll hesitate to kill her as one final act to win.”

Locking eyes with the psychologist, O’Neill understood now why she had insisted Sheppard be left out of this meeting. “Do you think he’ll kill her anyway?”

Demarius took over again. “We don’t know. Not as long as he feels like she can be useful, at least. But we’re in a weak position, General. This man doesn’t want to negotiate; he has what he wants: Proof. Make no mistake, we are dealing with a fanatic, someone who feels that exposing government involvement with aliens is more important than a single life. His own, and Dr Weir’s.”

“You’re saying even if we find her-” Jack looked pointedly at Bill Lee, who hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours since coming to DC “-they’re not going to ransom her back.”

“In all likelihood...no.” An emotion, bordering on despair, seemed to creep into Eleanor’s tone. But she was as sleep-deprived as the rest of them, so Jack let it pass. “Saving Dr Weir is going to require brute force, General.”

"Which is the last thing you want me to tell the IOA or the President, Dr Preston."

A chill fell on the room. "Why?"

"Because the most classified information in the world is being spoonfed to the public on a conspiracy-theory website by a once-high ranking diplomat, and if the most expedient way to halt the spread of that information is to drop a bomb on Elizabeth Weir, no one - not even me - will be able to stop it."

*******

“Hey, you better wake up and eat something.”

As wake-up calls, Elizabeth had definitely had worse. Zach set a cup of coffee on the end table and a peanut butter sandwich. For the third morning in a row. And that was stretching her tolerance levels of captivity. The boys had definitely not planned well; or maybe they had, and were completely unperturbed by eating the same thing repeatedly. At least there was coffee. Very bad, bitter, instant coffee, but it kept the caffeine headache at bay, which no amount of ibuprofen could touch. It had been a couple of days since Andy last hit Elizabeth, so it was nice to not have a headache, and if drinking terrible coffee was what it took to keep things that way, so be it.

With the hand not chained to the couch’s wood frame, Elizabeth reached for the camp mug and took several swift gulps, unable to stop the shudder that ran through her once her taste buds caught up to the vile liquid she was trying to sneak past.

“You look like you need a shower.”

Now Elizabeth froze, spilling some of the coffee down the front of the scrubs she’d been wearing since she was taken. While the prospect of a shower and maybe clean clothes was enticing, the prospect of being naked within a hundred miles of Andy and Zach was terrifying. Not they had shown any inclination to abuse her like that, but none the less…

“She definitely needs a shower before we do any more recording.” Andy came down the narrow hallway that led to the back of the cabin, using a towel to wick away the water still clinging to his blond spikes. “Thank you can handle that while I run into town?”

Zach looked stricken. “Me?”

“Is there anyone else here?” Tossing the damp towel over the back of a chair, Andy picked up the car keys and donned a pair of expensive sunglasses before walking out the door without another word.

When the sound of the engine faded, Zach finally turned to face Elizabeth, but wouldn’t look up from his shoes. “I won’t, um…I’m not like that. I promise. I’ll just…well, I won’t watch, I’ll just…wait.” Removing a key from his pocket, it took three attempts for his shaking hand to get it in the padlock and release the length of chain holding Elizabeth. “Come on.” The woman didn’t move. “Come ON!”

Zach pulled the chain, yanking her off the couch and flat onto her stomach. Elizabeth used her elbows to keep from hitting her face against the musty floor boards, sending a sharp bolt of pain up each arm. “Sorry,” her reluctant captor muttered, lifting her easily to her feet once more. “It’s just…it’s better if we just do what Andy says.”

 _Why?_ Elizabeth demanded, pushing his hands away. _Why do we have to do what he says? Can’t you think for yourself? I know you don’t want to do this!_

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.” Gripping the span of chain close to her wrist, Zach led her down the hall like a dog and into a cramped bathroom without any windows. Unsure what to do, Zach turned on the faucet and adjusted his grip to the end of the chain. “I’ll, uh, just sit in the hall, ok?”

With door closed all but an inch, Elizabeth realized she might as well take advantage of the opportunity to wash away the days of accumulated sweat and tears. All she could do with her top was push it down the chain and leave it hanging out the side of the shower curtain, washing as best she could with one hand. The water was not warm, but it wasn’t freezing, either, so she lathered, rinsed, and repeated three times. A slightly used razor left on the edge of the tub was one of the more refreshing sights, making her feel slightly more human. When she couldn’t think of anything else to clean, Elizabeth just sat under the weak stream of water and tried to think.

_What would John do?_

John would rescue her, like he always did.

But he wasn’t here.

“You alive?” a tentative voice called through the door. A single voice. Possibly the best chance she would have.

Turning off the water, Elizabeth grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself as best as possible before cracking the door a little further and holding up the rest of her soiled clothes.

Zach’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

 _Clean. Clothes._ Elizabeth mouthed, shaking the hospital garb at him. _Please._

Bless his simple heart, he at least seemed to get it. “Right. Um, I have a shirt and…well, everything is a bit big. Maybe Andy has a pair of shorts. Come on.”

Letting him lead her to the first of two bedrooms, Zach tried to go through the gym bag with his free hand, but got frustrated and dropped the free end of the chain on the bed. That was all she needed. Grabbing the gaudy deer-horn lamp off the dresser, Elizabeth swung with all her might for the back of the young man’s head, dropping him with a sickening crack. Frantically searching his pockets, Elizabeth found the key in his pocket, stabbing uselessly at the cuff on her hand before realizing the key was only for a padlock. There was no other key. Andy wasn’t an idiot; he’d probably taken it with him.

Throwing the worthless piece of metal at the unconscious Zach, Elizabeth gathered the chain in a lasso and fed it through the sleeve of a too-large t-shirt, then tied the string of a pair of gym shorts tightly around her waist. There was no hope for any shoes, but adrenaline made her ignore the pain of the first rock she stepped on as she sprinted out the cabin door and down the dirt drive.

A very long dirt drive. She tried to remember back to her time in the trunk, any changes in sound or turns, but nothing was coming. So she just kept running. But unlike her problems, Elizabeth couldn’t keep running from this, either. Lungs burning and vision blurring, she finally stumbled to a walking pace, desperately trying to suck in oxygen.

It reminded her of Sevinias; of those moments between hearing John screaming for her to run for the Stargate, and then hearing nothing at all, seeing nothing, but feeling the desperate need to breathe without any air responding. After meeting so many soldiers in the SGC and patients in Willoughby, it seemed most people never remembered the moments leading up to their serious injuries. But she couldn’t forget, and desperately wished she could. Elizabeth swiped furiously at the tears threatening to steal her vision again. Now was not the time for a panic attack. She needed to find a road and find help.

It was mostly the now very noticeable agony coming from the soles of her feet that kept her moving; without pressure to numb the pain, ever time a foot left the ground it started to throb, making her rush to set it back down. Thus each step advanced quickly, until she had surely gone at least three miles. The dirt was turning more rocky, like there had been a gravel drive in the distant past, forcing Elizabeth further off the road and into the brush. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears she almost missed the sound of the approaching car.

Having not reached a road yet, there was only one person it could be. Finding another surge of adrenaline, Elizabeth took off running through the untamed grass of the field, but it was too late, she’d been seen. The car sped up and left the path, closing rapidly on her heels. There was hope further ahead, where the trees became too thick, but suddenly a sharp pain shot through her right leg and she fell hard, rolling several times before coming to rest against a fallen log. The car fishtailed as the driver hit the breaks hard, and a bumper bearing an Ohio license plate stopped only a meter from her head.

“You bitch!” Though she threw her hands up for protection, Andy delivered a stunning blow to her cheek with a closed fist. “How did you get out here? What did you do? What did you do to Zach?!”

 _I’m sorry! I’m sorry!_ She cried, and hating herself every time she said it, but it seemed the only way to stop him from hitting her again.

“Get up!” he demanded, yanking hard on the chain. “Get in the car now!” He pulled again, nearly dislocating her shoulder, but it was no use: her ankle was most definitely broken, her foot stuck at an odd angle. “God DAMMIT!” the angry young man shrieked, grabbing her under the arms and dragging her to the back seat, pushing her in.

Maybe she could have wrapped the chain around his neck while he drove, forced him off the road, but the fight was gone. Elizabeth sobbed, equal parts frustration and absolute agony radiating from the broken joint.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Andy growled, glancing back at her from the rear-view mirror. “You brought this on yourself. And I swear to god, if anything has happened to Zach, this is as good as you’re ever going to feel again. This could have been so easy, but you keep ruining everything.”

His rant continued all the way back to the cabin, by which point she was barely conscious. But something on the floor caught her eye, a receipt from a gas station. And suddenly she had an idea.

*******

“Sheppard? Hey, Sheppard, are you awake?”

Rolling over on the Pentagon-issued couch, John groaned as his spine realigned itself with a series of Rice Krispy-like sounds. For five days he had slept on various pieces of Jack O’Neill’s office furniture, growing increasingly frustrated at their inability to find Elizabeth despite analysing a second video of her interrogation about Atlantis and the Stargate program.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, forcing himself upright and looking around fruitlessly for his watch.

“It 0445, but we’ve got another…video.” The way the General said the last word made the hair on the back of John’s neck stand.

“What’s wrong?”

Closing the door behind him to block the glow from the hallway, Jack turned on a dimmer table lamp. “We need help…understanding some of what she’s saying. Or, well, writing, but Sheppard…you should prepare yourself. She doesn’t look…good. For her.”

“What does that mean?” Pulling on his borrowed boots, John stood and grabbed the Air Force hoodie from its place on the back of a chair and gestured impatiently for the General to lead the way.

“What did they do to her?”

“It seems Elizabeth tried to stage a break out and broke her ankle in the process. Our sadistic narrator enjoyed making sure we could all see it and know that he did nothing wrong, she did it to herself.” Jack’s voice dripped with angry sarcasm. “Because she obviously kidnapped herself, and gave herself the hand-shaped bruise across her face.” He slammed the door with significantly more force than needed.

Clenching his teeth so hard his jaw cracked, John tried to move the conversation forward. “Does Dr Lee have any more information on where these videos are coming from?”

“No. The host site is constantly being moved to new remote servers. Or something like that. There appears to be a series of…volunteers from the Fields of Truth website around the world are taking turns hosting and uploading. We’re trying to get a list of subscribers and get eyes on them but…there’s so many.” Jack pushed open the door to the ever-expanding war room where a dozen SGC personnel were crowded around a series of monitors.

“General.” A familiar blond Colonel looked up from her laptop, dark circles under her eyes. “Sheppard. I can just…give you a transcript if you prefer-”

“Just show me,” he growled, holding his hand out for the computer and taking it to an empty chair. Without comment, O’Neill slid a legal pad and pen next to him.

*

_Welcome to Part Three of our Stargate Expose with Dr Elizabeth Weir, who as you can see, had herself a bit of an adventure. Took off running after attacking a member of our staff and only succeeded in breaking his head and her ankle. Show our loyal viewers that ankle. Yeah, it’s kind of ugly. You won’t be doing that again. What are you writing there?_

Is this going to end any time soon?

_Why, do you have somewhere else to be?_

I was going to meet my friend Carson for lunch at the Willow Tea rooms for lunch.

_Sarcasm does not become you, Dr Weir._

How would you know?

_Tell me more about the other members of your Expedition. Who else knows about the Stargate program?_

Well, Carson was my chief surgeon, who was absolutely brilliant, except for not being able to put me back together after that bomb on Savinias. And there was Chuck, the Canadian gate tech. He hated being out in the middle of an ocean; would rather be home running through the woods trapping furs with his family in the dead of winter. Our lead scientist, Rodney McKay is someone you’ve probably come across. He worked with the SGC before Atlantis. My best pilots Lorne and Smith died when-

_These are rather minor personnel. I want to know the names of Admirals and Generals, Politicians and Presidents._

Okay, well, there’s Senator Kinsey, who hates the Stargate program and everyone in it. He’s tried to shut us down multiple times. There’s the British member of the shadow cabinet, Russel Chapman. You could always catch him humming this stupid song, ‘Ferry Across the Mersey’. James Coolidge for the US. They’re part of the International Oversight Advisory committee, the civilian body that worked in conjunction with the military to keep tabs on the Stargate program.

_You were a member yourself, were you not?_

Yes, my initial assignment to the Stargate program was to replace General Hammond, who was transferred to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base to make room for a civilian head. I was a short-lived political appointment, transferred to the Antarctic base once the search for Atlantis began.

_So by ‘political appointment’, you mean that you were essentially unqualified for the position._

I think there are some that would agree with you.

_So not only is our government covering up the greatest discovery of all time, but they’ve put completely incompetent people in charge of it, too._

Again, there are some that would agree with you.

_Are you not interested in defending the program for which you have given so much of your life, Dr Weir?_

To what end? You hardly ask a question without expecting a certain response. You want to know about living on an alien world in the lost city but you aren’t interested in the people who lived there. Maybe I wasn’t the best choice, but my people were. They were the best and the bravest. Which is more than I can say for you.

_Maybe that’s enough for today, Dr Weir, you’re getting a little punchy._

*

“Well, Sheppard, you’ve watched it three times now. What is she trying to tell us?”

Wide, fevered eyes looked up from a series of hasty scribbles. “I need a map.”

That wasn’t the answer Jack was expecting. “Why?”

“Because I think she’s trying to tell us where she is.” Seeing no one move, John held up his absolutely illegible notes. “Look at this, look at all the mistakes she made. Wright Patterson is in Ohio. General Hammond wasn’t reassigned there, he retired. So Ohio has to mean something.”

“Okay, Ohio. Not the biggest place in the universe, but I could really stand to have you narrow that down a bit more, Sheppard.” The General looked annoyed. “Hammond was originally from Texas. How do you know she isn’t trying to hint at Texas?”

“Because there was no sense in mentioning Wright-Patt otherwise. Now please, get me a map of Ohio!”

“Here.” Carter pulled up a map on her computer and handed it to John. “So what else?”

“Well, umm…The thing she said about Beckett, about meeting him in some tea rooms? Those are in Glasgow.”

“Is there a city called Glasgow in Ohio?” Same asked anxiously, then watched the other man’s face fall as he scanned the search results. “Or a Scotland?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, what else?” Jack prodded. “You know her better than anyone else here.”

“Chuck, the Gate tech? He didn’t hate Atlantis, he loved it. He hated going into the woods with his family; said he always got eaten by mosquitos. So we’re looking for someplace wooded?”

“Well, that would stand out in Arizona, not Ohio. We rather figured they weren’t keeping her in a suburban duplex. Keep going.”

“Okay, okay, the, um, the guy from the IOA, the British representative? She said he hummed a song, ‘Ferry Across the Mersey’.”

Jack snorted. “I never heard that guy crack a smile, much less sing a song.”

“And Elizabeth isn’t exactly renowned for her knowledge of music history. It’s a song she said her dad liked, something be brought back from a trip to England. The Mersey is the river in Liverpool.”

“That’s a lot of British references in one code,” Sam pointed out. “Are you sure she’s still in the US, that we aren’t looking for a place in the UK?”

John shook his head vigorously, unblinking eyes looking on his screen. “THERE!” He turned the computer around. “Look, there’s a little place in Ohio called East Liverpool. And just across the border in Pennsylvania, Glasgow!”

Carter felt her pulse race. “There’s a rural street running between them: Calcutta-Smith Ferry Road! The Ferry!”

“And Lorne didn’t die-”

“-But Smith did,” O’Neil finished, remembered the death notice he’d had to deliver two years ago after getting the first Atlantis transmission. He looked over his shoulder at some junior officer whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment. “Recall every SG team, get the Air Force, the CIA, the FBI, the ATF, hell, call the TSA to screen everyone trying to get in or out of those towns. I don’t want a mouse to be able to crawl within a twenty-mile radius of that point without us knowing.”

John jumped to her feet. “General, permission to-”

“Denied, Sheppard.” Jack stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I wouldn’t trust you with a potato peeler right now. You’ll just get in the way.”

“But, sir, she’s my responsibility-”

“Denied, Colonel, and I won’t say it a third time.” Before any further objection could be raised, Jack walked away, leaving a distraught-looking John.

Sam gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder, attempting reassurance. “Don’t worry. We can get her back.”

An hour later, as the chopper stood ready on the roof to take O’Neill and his team to Ohio, Jack asked an important question: Where was John Sheppard?

No one knew.

But the helicopter on the roof was gone, its pilot looking worse for the wear and completely unable to explain what had happened; but the lump on the back of his head was a pretty good clue to everyone involved at Sheppard was gone.

*******

Elizabeth woke herself up with a violent shiver. She was so tired, but she couldn’t sleep, constantly waking up with either the pain in her ankle or the bone-deep cold she felt from the high fever that was slowly killing her. As thirsty as she was, she hadn’t been able to keep anything down for the last day, ever with a backhand from Andy trying to convince her otherwise.

“She looks really bad.” Zach, Master of the Obvious, was apparently more forgiving of her assault on him than other might have been. “Maybe we could get some medicine in town?”

“She’s going to die.” Chewing semi-crunchy oatmeal made on the gas stove, Andy looked over at his captive with a dispassionate eye. “The break has become infected, and septic shock is going to set it. But it won’t be our fault. She did it to herself.”

The other young man looked horrified. “Andy, we can’t-”

“Don’t worry about it, Zach. She’s cheated death more than once, or did you think those precisely placed scars on her wrists were from the bomb that ripped out her throat? We’re just letting nature take its course now.”

“But you promised that we-”

“You didn’t really believe that, did you?” Shaking his head sadly, Andrew Fields sounded genuinely contrite. “Zach, what about the time I told you we were going to return the candy we took from the convenience store when we were ten. You know I ate all of it that night, right? I never took it back. Or when I said we were only borrowing the janitor’s keys to get my textbook from the chemistry lab? I was getting the test answers for the midterm. How else were we going to pass?”

“But this is killing someone!”

“No, this is letting someone die. It’s not the same thing, my sad, simple Zach.” Reaching across the table, he took his friend’s coffee cup and poured the remaining liquid into his own. “How do you think we got the money for this? That fundraiser for the VA-”

“The wounded veterans?!”

“Yeah, they already have plenty of money. But look what a few thousand dollars got us! Answers to the biggest secret in the universe! And now because this idiot broke her own ankle you want us to give up everything and go to prison?! I refuse!” Lowering his voice once more to cajoling tones, Andy tried to reason with his counterpart. “We have a destiny, Zach, a place in the history books. You cannot weigh fate and the future with a single life.”

Whether the debate continued or not, Elizabeth didn’t want to keep listening. As difficult as it was to sleep, she was crossing more into the realm where wakefulness was even more difficult. She had tried her best, but she didn’t even know if anyone was looking for her, must less finding obscure videos on the internet and deciphering her meaning. The only person on Earth (the rest of her friends being on Atlantis) who might understand her coded answers was John Sheppard, and he was locked away in a mental ward, too.

It had been worth a shot, and if she had any regrets, it was not seeing her mother one last time while back on her home world. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth swore she could feel the ocean breeze, smell the salt, see that alien sun setting on the horizon…

*******

Without radio or transponder, John was invisible to world save for a few early risers looking up a rhythmic whump in the clouds without even a pinprick of light to identify the source. He flew on instinct, using shadows and nearly-empty streets to find his was across western Pennsylvania.  
“I’m coming, Elizabeth. Just hold on.”


	10. Chapter 10

General Jack O’Neill was in a very, very bad mood, stabbing blindly at the seatbelt buckle in his substitute helicopter, which had been thirty minutes in coming. “He better hope those bastards kill him before I get there.”

Sam Carter didn’t need a name to know who the ‘he’ was. “Can you blame him, sir?”

“Of course I can! That’s what I’m doing right now, isn’t it?”

“And if it was me?” she asked gently.

“It has been you before, Carter.” This was nearly lost in the road of the rotors picking up speed.

Cam Mitchell looked discreetly out the window as Washington retreated into the misty morning sun behind them. He knew. They all knew. But at least General O’Neill stopped threatening Sheppard’s continued existence.

*******

He set down on the outskirts of the village known as Glasgow, hoping he didn’t alert too many of the natives that he was there lest any of them be connected with Elizabeth’s captors. The dairy farmer, though, was already up before the sun, standing still against the backlight of the open kitchen door as the scruffy airman cautiously approached.

“Morning.” John tried to come off sounding at ease, as if landing an Osprey in someone’s front yard was the most natural of occurrences.

“Can I help you, sir?” At least the older man wasn’t armed; that was a plus.

“I’m looking for someone I believe is in the area.”

“As you can imagine, we don’t get too many visitors around here. Least ways not ones with their own military hardware.”

Fumbling around in his jumpsuit pocket, John found the wallet he’d left with from Bethesda, and in it was the only picture he had, one of a surprised Elizabeth looking over from her spot on the balcony just as John pressed the button on the old Polaroid brought by one of the latest arrivals on the Daedalus. He had promised her he would destroy it, and admittedly, he never showed it to anyone else. “It’s not very good, I know, but it’s the only one I have.”

The farmers nodded appreciatively. “Pretty lady. Your wife?”

“What? No!” John looked at the image for an instant, suddenly wondering if he was missing something, like fantasy might have overtaken reality when he wasn’t paying attention. “No, this is Dr Elizabeth Weir, a US diplomat. She was kidnapped from Washington six days ago. Through a series of…coded messages on the internet, we think she was brought here.”

“Sorry, son, but I haven’t seen anyone like that around town.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Ain’t heard about a kidnapped ambassador on the news, neither.”

“Her security clearance is the highest in the Pentagon. We don’t want anyone to know she’s missing.” The lies came more naturally to John than he cared to admit. But it was also a fraction of the truth. “We think she was taken by two men working alone, younger, one built like a linebacker, the other smaller, but the brains of the operation.”

“Got any more detail than that?”

John looked ready to cry. “No. But she…she’s been hurt. We saw – we wondered…is there a doctor in town or has anyone robbed a pharmacy or clinic?”

The gruff old farmer seemed to soften. “I haven’t heard, but if you wait for me to get my keys, we can go to the sheriff’s office. Maybe he’s heard something from East Liverpool.”

Nodding his thanks, John jogged back to the Osprey to grab his side arm and P-90, as well as the helicopter’s emergency medical kit. Though he had disabled the electronics, he had no doubt it would be found before too long. Finding a Sharpie tucked into the door, he left a quick note for the General. Not that it would make a difference.

“Hop in, son.” The farmer didn’t bat an eye at the laden pilot, and John noticed a shot gun in the truck cab. “The name’s McNeil.”

“Really?” Probably not the best response.

“Problem with that?”

“No, just…thinking I was probably meant to run into you.” John tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Lt Colonel Sheppard, US Air Force.”

“I figured it was something like that.” They drove quickly down the empty road, passing a sign that said ‘Little Beaver Creek’ before driving over a bridge that had definitely seen better days. “So, is there a reason you didn’t come with reinforcements?”

“Oh, they’re coming,” Sheppard mumbled, eyes moving rapidly across their surroundings. “I’m just scouting for the cavalry. You have no idea what’s about to come down on you within the next hour. I hope you didn’t have plans to leave the area today.”

“Welp, was thinking of running to New Brighton, but I guess it can wait.” Looking over at his passenger, McNeil’s lip twitched, letting the Colonel know he was joking and John relaxed a bit, only to tense up again as red and blue lights suddenly pulled out behind them. “Ah, there he is. Was wondering if Max was late to work.”

John was flabbergasted. “You…you were speeding on purpose?”

“It’s the only way to find a cop when ya need one.” Putting on the blinker, McNeil eased over onto the shoulder and rolled down the window, resting his elbow on the edge to wait. “Best if you let me talk for the moment.”

Like being in some bad movie stereotype, an overweight man in khaki stepped up to the truck and pushed the brim of his hat back up to see better in the dim sunrise. “Mornin’, Neal. What’s the hurry?”

“Had a helicopter land in the yard and this fella from the Air Force got out. Looking for a missing lady, someone important to the government. Says we’ve got a lot of soldiers headed this way.”

Max the Sheriff didn’t look to happy to see John. “That true?”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is.” He pulled out the picture, hoping Elizabeth didn’t find out he still had it. “Dr Weir, US State Department. Kidnapped last week. Sent a coded message that led us to believe she’s in the area. Specifically, the state park.”

Angling the Polaroid to try and catch a better light, the Sheriff’s squint didn’t reassure John that precious shooting was his forte. “Pretty lady. Can’t say I’ve seen her around.”

The slowness of explaining this all again was grating his last nerve. “No, we think she’s being held by a couple of young men, one bigger, one smaller and definitely smarter. How many cabins or homes are there in the park?”

“There’s 2700-acres of forest, son, straddling two states. Can’t think of a worse place to go looking for one missing person. Especially if your kidnappers know the area.”

“Then please, I need you to think of anyone you know who would know this forest. Someone who is…different.” John wasn’t sure how to phrase this. “Maybe a little out there, like…believes in conspiracy theories and aliens.”

Both local men suddenly grew stern and John felt a chill.

“You didn’t say anything about that,” McNeil said.

“You thinking Andy?” the Sheriff asked.

“And you know he would have dragged Zach into it.”

Max looked off into the distance, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I should talk to his dad first, before we-”

“No!” Sheppard watched the sheriff instinctively reach for his gun, and tried to placate the man. “Please, no. Dr Weir’s been hurt. I – we can’t risk these guys having any hint that we might be on to them. I have been reliably assured that they would kill her.”

“Zach wouldn’t even sell his 4-H calf,” Max scoffed. “I highly doubt-”

“But you know Andy could,” McNeal interrupted sternly. “He could.”

Reluctantly, the Sheriff nodded. “I suppose we could go check out that hunting shack up around Purgatory Hollow.”

“Purgatory Hollow?” John echoed. As if there could be something more ominous.

“Yeah, the Fields family keeps-”

“Fields?” Something clicked in John’s head. “Who is ‘Fields’?”

“Robert Fields, used to take his son Andy-”

 _FieldsofTruth.org_. “That clever, sadistic, arrogant bastard.” Sheppard could have laughed if he wasn’t so angry.

McNeil wasn’t following. “Colonel?”

“It’s him. It’s Fields. You have to take me to him. Now.”

*******

“What does it say, General?”

Sam Carter stood on her toes to look over Jack’s shoulder and the scrap of paper in his hand.

_Got another ride. Sorry. JS._

“Snarky bastard,” O’Neill muttered.

“At least he’s sorry,” Sam pointed out. Whatever Jack’s response was, it was lost to the sound of three Apaches passing overhead. Under the guide of a ‘military exercise’, the borders of Ohio and Pennsylvania had been sealed to the outside world.

“General.” Turning around, Cam was waiting with a terrified-looking older woman still in her dressing gown. “This is Mrs McNeil.”

“Morning, ma’am.” Trying to set her at ease, Jack smiled and touched the brim of his dress uniform had. “Sorry for all the commotion, but we’re looking for the pilot who left this helicopter in your side yard.”

“My husband said he was driving him over to Liverpool to find the sheriff, said an Air Force guy was looking some kidnapped government official.” Wary eyes passed back and forth from Jack to

Sam, looking for any sign that she might have said something upsetting. “Neal didn’t seem upset or anything, like he didn’t want to go; said he seemed like an okay guy.”

“Wait a minute.” Jack held up a hand to stop her. “.......Your husband’s name is Neal McNeil?”

“It was his stepfather’s name,” she said defensively.

When Jack looked ready to say something more, Sam put a hand on his elbow. “General O’Neill just wants to confirm who we’re looking for.”

Mrs McNeil didn’t look convinced. “I thought you were looking for a lady.”

Well this wasn’t getting any better.

“Jack!” Daniel came jogging over, having left an archaeology conference to come assist in the search. “Just got word from one of the deputies that the Sheriff said they were headed into the forest, some place called Purgatory Hollow.”

“So Sheppard and his new friend found the Sheriff, did they?”

“More than that, Jack: we’ve got a name. And they’re bringing him in now.”

But the General wasn't satisfied. "I've had a week of waiting. I'm not waiting for anyone to bring me anything. We're going - NOW."

*******

That old saying about not being able to see the forest for the trees wasn’t some euphemism for missing the obvious: the foliage was dense, John was having a hard time seeing where they were going. Even with the sun fully above the horizon now, it was still dim. They had been forced to leave the patrol car and Neal’s truck two miles ago. It wasn’t that they couldn’t drive closer, but not without potentially alerting the kidnappers. And no helicopter would have been able to see, much less land, for all the trees. It wasn’t a warm morning, but John was sweating, fighting the urge to raise his P-90, which would only have been pointed at the Sheriff’s back.

“How much further?” he growled.

“Probably just another quarter mile,” Max answered, his right hand resting on the butt of his service weapon. “But this is just a guess, Colonel. We don’t know anything yet.”

“It’s them.” It had to be. Sheppard needed this to be the end of the search. Because Elizabeth didn’t have any more time. After a few more minutes, a thought suddenly occurred to him. “The Sheriff called you Neal. You leave off the ‘Mac’ part with your friends?”

“Nope, that’s my name: Neal McNeil.”

“Your name is-”

“Was my stepdad’s name.” It seemed Mr McNeal had explained this before. Many times. “You got a problem with it?”

“Nope, I’m just more convinced than ever I was meant to run into you.”

“Why’s that?” McNeil asked.

“Oh, you’ll find out before the day is over, I’m sure. Just remember, he’s not a bad guy, and I might kinda deserve to be shot on sight,” Sheppard admitted sheepishly.

“Funny thing to say for someone who was sent to look for some missing V.I.P.” The farmer lowered the shotgun from his shoulder to get a better look at John. “You are supposed to be out here, Colonel, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well no, but…I was helping to look. And I couldn’t wait any longer. It’s been six days.”

“She just an ambassador to you, or something more?” Neal McNeil was not a stupid man.

“She’s my responsibility.” Even now, John couldn’t say it, couldn’t say what she meant to him. “I failed her twice before. I’m the whole reason she’s in this mess.”

“Is that going to make you dangerous?”

Before John could answer, Max threw up a hand and crouched down, making the other two follow suit. “I see Andy’s car. He’s definitely here.”

Shuffling up beside the Sheriff, but careful to keep his head down John scanned the area around the dilapidated cabin. “Looks like a single entrance, no tracks around the perimeter. Curtains closed on the windows; can’t see anything. But I don’t see anyone standing guard either.”

“Were you expecting one?” Max asked, incredulous. “It’s just a couple of boys skipping work-”

“Tell me about Fields,” john interrupted. “Is he dangerous.”

“Andrew Fields is a smart boy, but doesn’t know what to do with all those brains. Got kicked out of high school for using the district’s computer network to host an online gambling website. His mom left years ago, and his dad isn’t exactly the easiest man to get along with. Always had these funny notions about aliens, said they came to Earth disguised as gods or some such nonsense.”

“Right. Nonsense,” Sheppard muttered. “Who else is with him?”

“Zach Kline. Good kid. Not the brightest bulb in the house, mind you, but a good kid. If he has any flaw, it’s that he’s always followed Andy around like a puppy. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, though. Doesn’t even like to go hunting.”

“But I can assume they both own guns?” John looked over at the Sheriff for confirmation, and the man reluctantly nodded. “Then they can hurt.”

Neal tried to diffuse the tension between them. “Look, Colonel, maybe we should-”

He stopped when the front door of the cabin opened and a giant of a young man stepped out onto the porch, pausing to look around before picking up a shovel leaning against the rail. Tightening his grip on his gun, John was held back by a firm hand on his shoulder. So they waited, collective breaths held, while Zach sauntered off to the tree line. Motioning for the two civilians to stay put and watch the cabin, John handed over his P-90 and unsheathed his field knife. Creeping through the underbrush, he may his way to within ten feet of his prey, who seemed to be digging a hole.

Or a grave.

Timing was key, because John doubted he could tackle Zach Kline in a fully upright position. It would have been rather like running headlong into a tree trunk. As the young man bend over for another shovelful of dirt, Sheppard rushed him from behind, making sure that he came up on top with one hand over Kline’s mouth and the other holding a knife to his throat. “Where is she?” he hissed, met with only wide, fearful eyes. He pushed the blade until it drew a bead of blood. “WHERE?!”

“Inside!” the young man insisted, answer muffled by John’s fingers, which he finally removed.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Andy – he told me to – to dig…a grave!” Tears rolled down the frightened young man’s dirty cheeks. He would have screamed as the knife dug deeper, but John covered his mouth again, stopping whatever was about to come out next.

He couldn’t do it, though. He couldn’t. Because Elizabeth wouldn’t. It was just some dumb, terrified kid, desperately babbling something under the pressure of his hand. “What?”

“She’s not dead, I swear. But she’s sick, really sick, and Andy won’t help her. I promise she’s not dead yet!” Hopefully finally came to Zach’s face as the knife came off his windpipe and John slowly stood up, motioning with the point for his prisoner to do the same.

“You see that clump of bushes twenty yards behind me?” John asked, watching Zach’s eyes move over his shoulder, then slowly nod. “The sheriff is back there, and if you don’t want to die in the hell storm coming down on this place, you will walk over there and surrender to his custody. Understand?” Another nod. “Good boy. Go.”

Though he hesitated for only a moment, mostly concerned that he would still find the knife sticking out of his chest, Zach finally took off at a sprint as instructed. John watched him until he seemed to be swallowed by the fading greenery, likely tackled by his two accomplices. Sheathing the knife, John took up his pistol and slowly crept towards the house. Back pressed against the rotten siding, he tried to look through the front window, but he could see anything through the heavy blackout curtains. Cursing, John slip along to the front door and placed his hand on the knob, giving it a slight twist as reassurance that it wasn’t locked.

The test twist was fortunate, because he wasn’t actually standing in front of the door when the shotgun blast ripped through the brittle wood.

Twisting away on instinct, John missed most of the second one. Most of it. The fire searing through the right trapezius muscle told him a few pellets had found their mark.

The rest of the blast, though, did find the Sheriff, who had come running out from behind cover after the first shot. Without the benefit of a Kevlar vest, Max seemed to hit an invisible wall, falling backwards with a grunt. Neal McNeil started to approach, but Sheppard waved him away; nothing was going to help the poor man on the ground now.

“Alright!” John shouted, banging the butt of his pistol against the doorframe. “You’ve made your point. I’m not interested in you. I just want Dr Weir.”

“And what exactly do you think is the incentive to give up the one bargaining chip in my possession?” a voice called back. There was no quaver, no doubt, just a coldness John had heard before from the likes of Acastus Kolya and others of his ilk.

Mulling over his words for a minute, John decided the best answer was the truth. “Because if she’s still alive, I won’t kill you. And if she’s not…you won’t be for much longer either.” Silence. “Do we understand each other?”

“Open the door.”

John hesitantly reached to his side and turned the knob once more, giving the rickety planks a shove, surprised that it didn’t fall off the frame completely.

“Good. Now toss your weapon in.” With a flick of his wrist, Sheppard sent the Barretta tumbling through the doorway. “Okay, now slowly – slowly! – step in here with your hands where I can see them.”

Leading with his open palms, Sheppard’s eyes took a minute to adjust to the dim interior. In front of him, behind a kitchen counter, stood a kid who looked barely out of high school with a 12-guage levelled steady. But to his left, covered in a filthy blanket, was the woman he had spent the last week trying to find. “Lizbeth?”

“Stop!” Andy’s shout was the pause button on this horror film, freezing John with one foot turned to move.

“Please.” If anyone had asked John Sheppard if he had it within himself to beg, he would have said a blizzard on Venus was more likely. But there it was, desperate, shaking. “Please, let me just…”

Considering the man in front of him for a moment, Andy finally jerked the gun in Elizabeth’s direction. “It’s not my fault what happened. She broke her own ankle. I didn’t know she’d get so sick from it. It’s her fault.”

John tried to block out the words, kneeling next to the couch and pulling Elizabeth close, fingers searching desperately for a pulse in her neck. It was there, but barely. Pressing an ear between her breasts he was able to hear the fluid rattling in her lungs with each shallow breath. Where he would have expected the heat of fever, she was shocking cold, which was far more terrifying. “She doesn’t have much time, Andy. Please, let me get her out of here.”

“Figured out my name, did you?” The tone was mocking, hateful. “Proud of yourself for that? Did you use some alien tech? Your extra-terrestrial masters can’t be that advanced if it took you this long to find her. I’d say I didn’t do too badly.”

“She led us to you.” Sheppard was bitter, teeth clenched in anger. “There’s no god damn aliens helping, no secret technology, just a woman who was smarter than you.”

The rack of the shotgun made his blood freeze. Turning back to face Andy, John made sure to place as much of himself between Elizabeth and the paranoid boy. “You can’t lie to me. I know about the Stargate. I made sure she told me the truth.”

“You beat a woman into telling you what you wanted to hear!” It was getting harder to resist the urge to charge the open end of that gun and damn the consequences. “Hasn’t she suffered enough?! Look at her! A bomb ripped out her throat. I know – I was there! The best part of her was lost. But it just wasn’t enough. The government took her job, took her command. And here you come, all ego and hubris, thinking you know better, and taking everything else. So you know what, kid: Fuck you.”

Andrew Fields looked completely unphased by the verbal assault, eyeing his opponent thoughtfully. “You must be Sheppard. You were the one at Walter Reed. The one we should have gotten.”

A ray of hope. “I wish you had. And you can still have me. We can leave here together, you and me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. We can go on a freaking talk show tour if you want. I know some guys who are great with computers if you want to step up your production value. All you have to do is let Dr Weir go.”

“Now that’s not something I expected. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Andy waited, fingertips tapping the side of his shotgun impatiently. “Aren’t you, Colonel?”

John swallowed, nodding briefly. “Yes.”

“That’s too bad. Because that means you’ll never let me leave here alive.”

“No, I promise-”

“You can’t lie to me, Colonel Sheppard, even if you are lying to yourself. Tomorrow, next week, next year, or ten years from now, you will come for me because of what I did to her.” He raised the shotgun a little higher, tucking it more firmly into his shoulder. “Trust me, it’s better this way.”

The shot that rang out didn’t sound the same, and the impact John expected didn’t hit him in the chest, despite the brief sensation of his heart stopping. His confusion was matched by his opponent’s, Andy’s brow wrinkling in surprise as he looked down at the hole in his chest producing a prodigious blood-fall. The shotgun dropped first, then the body, bouncing off the counter top before hitting the floor. And like an echo, standing in the same position Andy once occupied, Neal stood with smoking run still at his shoulder, waiting to see if a second shot was necessary.

It wasn’t.

“You okay?” he asked, using his toe to nudge the body on the floor once.

John realized he had been holding his breath and needed to inhale before he could respond. “Yeah, thanks. But she’s not.”

McNeal nodded. “You’re not gonna be able to carry her with that shoulder.”

“Yes I can.”

“Your people are coming. We need to get out in the open.”

It was then that John could hear the helicopters circling the trees, looking for some place to set down, but the road in was lined by the woods until a half mile down the lane. Wrapping the blanket more firmly around Elizabeth, he cradled her closely, ignoring the fiery protest in his back, and took off at a steady jog, barely sparing a glance for the body of the poor Sheriff.

Weeks of lethargy, and days of little to no sleep had robbed John of more strength than he realized, though. His feet were heavy, stumbling over the gravel, and every breath was becoming more difficult. The blood pounding in his head deafened him to the sound of his own gasping pleas to Elizabeth to hold on, that they were almost home. Twice he fell to his knees and two sets of hands got him to his feet again, but the third time he couldn’t get back up. John became aware that people were speaking to him, trying to pull Elizabeth out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let them take her. Not again. Curling his body around hers, Sheppard buried his face in the crook of her neck and whispered a final apology before the dark overcame him.

*******

“There!”

“Where?!”

“THERE!”

Sam didn’t really need to shout, the headsets picked up her voice just fine, but she raised her voice anyway as she gesticulated through the window on her side of the helicopter. “I can see someone waving to get out attention right there!”

“I see them,” Cam agreed. “We’re going to have to set down a few hundred yards away. There isn’t enough clearance for the rotors here.”

“Don’t bother to put on the parking break,” Jack ordered. “This is probably going to be a scoop and run. If she’s alive, we’re going to need to get to a hospital sooner rather than later.”

Sam was the first one out the door, Daniel and the General close behind, while Cam was left clenched his teeth, annoyed at being left behind. In better shape than her two teammates, Carter was there first, boots nearly sliding past the huddled group as she dropped down next to them.

“John.” Ignoring the other two men, she touched the Colonel’s shoulder, only to find it sticky with blood. “John?”

“Caught some buckshot,” the older man explained. “He was worse than he let on, but wouldn’t let us help carry her.”

“Dr Weir?” Sam tried to find a pulse, but Sheppard was holding too tightly. “John, let go.”

“Dammit, Sheppard, what the hell did you go and do all this for?” General O’Neill was pissed because he was worried, and somehow anger was his only way of showing it. “Let go, Sheppard!”

It took the big one to get Elizabeth Weir free, the NFL reject looking fellow grabbing each wrist and forcing John’s arms far enough apart for Sam and Daniel to pull the diplomat free.

“She still has a pulse,” Sam confirmed. “Barely.”

Jack grimaced, then pointed at the young giant. “You get him. I’m too old for anything but easy lifting.” Daniel helped O’Neill to his feet with Elizabeth’s dead weight in his arms, staying close by should his friend not be able to make it all the way to the Osprey.

“Is there anyone else coming?” the older man asked. “There’s a couple of bodies back at the cabin.”

“Bodies?” Daniel echoed.

A solemn nod. “The Sheriff and the other kidnapper, Andrew Fields.”

“Andy?” Sheppard’s carrier stopped in his tracks, nearly toppling Daniel, who ran into the back of him. “Andy’s dead? Mr McNeal, you didn’t say anything about-”

“How the hell do ya think we got out of there, Zach?!” Neal barked. “You think Andy was just letting everyone go out of the goodness of his heart? He was gonna kill the both of them, Zach! Think for once in your damn life, son!”

“Helicopter now, thinking later!” Jack demanded, pointing towards the open Osprey. “We don’t need any more bodies to add to the day’s tally.”

Cam was revving up the rotors before any door closed, pausing once to look back at the two half-dead passengers. “Hope I can find a damn hospital in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s easy,” General O’Neill said, shrugging on the harness. “Just look for the big red ‘H’ on top of a building and set down there.”

*******

"Mr Wolsey?" Chuck called his new boss over. It was taking time, but the immediate dislike for Richard Woolsey was passing into tolerable indifference as Elizabeth Weir's replacement got his footing. "I have an urgent communique for you coming from the  _Daedalus,_ Colonel Caldwell."

"My office, if you please, Mr Campbell." In the past, Dr Weir had always kept the city fully informed, rarely taking messages in seclusion, but for the old lawyer, it was hard to shake the conditioning of perpetual confidentiality. Sitting in the comfortable chair he brought all the way from Earth, Woolsey took a moment to compose himself before switching on his tablet. "Colonel Caldwell, how can I help you? You're still another day away, aren't you?"

Never a man one would have described as especially cheerful, something about Caldwell was especially grim. "We are, sir, but I've just had a relay from Earth regarding Dr Weir and Colonel Sheppard. I'm afraid the news isn't good, and I've been instructed to offer a ride to anyone who would like the chance to...say good-bye."

Richard became acutely aware of the gooseflesh rising on his arms. "Are you saying-?"

"Not yet, as of twelve hours ago."

"The bother of them?"

Steven nodded unhappily. "A lot has happened, apparently, since we left Earth. This is going to be a quick turn around. We'll only be with you 24-hours."

Rubbing his brow unhappily, Woolsey sighed. "Dr McKay has already been waiting for you with bags packed for the days. He won't tell me about it, but insists it might be a way to help Elizabeth regain her voice, but-"

"-But I very much doubt he's going to have the chance."


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey there, Elizabeth. Sorry I couldn’t come by to see you before now, but it’s been a bit chaotic back at Willoughby. Everyone keeps asking about you, especially Carol and Ajax. Benny actually went home last week, but he calls every day to see if you’ve turned up. I might not actually tell him you’ve been found just yet because he’s sworn not to smoke another cigarette until he hears that you’re alright.”

Demarius North knew he didn’t have to be there, not really. But it seemed important to see his patient, even if she was in a coma, to reassure the unconscious part of her mind that she still had people on this side of life who cared.

“I haven’t told them yet that I’ve been offered a job by the SGC; at least I know what that is now. I know a lot of things, and why there was so much you couldn’t say – or, well, write. Sorry. Dr Preston and I have been working together to mentally adjust to this big new universe you and Colonel Sheppard brought into our lives. Eleanor is going to stay at Walter Reed, but she’s going to work specifically with veterans of the Stargate program. And if there’s anyone who needed counselling, it’s solders coming back from alien worlds.”

“You make us sound like martyrs.” The man in the doorway smiled reassuringly. “Sorry to startle you. I just didn’t know anyone else came to talk to her but the General and I.”

“No worries, Colonel…?”

“Mitchell. Cameron Mitchell.” Taking the second chair in the private hospital room, Cam rolled a half-empty coffee cup between his palms. “Usually I read the headlines from _The New York Times_ or _Washington Post,_ but haven’t had a chance to pick up a paper today. Figure someone ought to keep her up to date on things.”

The psychologist nodded in understanding. “She’s breathing on her own now, I see. They finally got the pneumonia under control?”

“Yep. Took the tube out yesterday. She might actually wake up before Sheppard.” Mentioning the other comatose member of their party dampened the mood. “Maybe he would make more of an effort if he knew she was waiting for him.”

Demarius made to stand and offer his folding chair to the Colonel, but Cam waved him off. “Have you known them long?”

“I joined the SGC after they left for Atlantis. But when Elizabeth first returned after the accident, I spent some time with her. She seemed like she…needed a friend, and no one seemed too sure what to do with her.” Mitchell looked sheepishly down at his feet and grimaced. “I’m afraid I may not have been much help. I tried helping her the way I was helped after crashing my 302, encouraged her to get back out in the world, but I pushed her too far…”

“I’m sure whatever you did was helpful in some way,” Dr North reassured him. “Everyone needs to know someone cares about them, no matter how it’s demonstrated.”

*******

The first thing she was aware of arrived in the form of a dull ache radiating from her foot all the way up to her hip. An ache, but not the excruciating pain she remembered. If anything, her chest hurt more, like going for a jog on a bitterly cold evening.

What was the last thing she remembered?

Mostly running and pain. The frustration of being caught again, and then being too tired to care about anything any longer. Sleep was a wonderfully inviting relief. But how long had she been asleep? And why didn’t it feel or smell like the old musty couch any longer?

Opening her eyes, she was dimly aware of familiar surroundings, but she didn’t know why they were familiar because she had no idea where she was. Reaching a hand up to rub at the thin layer of crust gumming her eyes, Elizabeth noticed the clear tube running from the back of her hand.

“Good morning, luv.”

That accent. She knew it. _Carson?_

“Aye, Elizabeth, it’s me.” Those bright blue eyes and calming smile hovered nearby. She made to touch his face, to make sure it was real, and his hand brought her palm to his warm cheek.

_How?_

“Ya’ve had quite a long nap, lass. The Daedalus brought us in just yesterday. We heard about what happened, and they were concerned ya weren’t goin’ ta make it. Of course, I knew that was a load of bollocks, but it’s nice ta get away from Atlantis from time ta time.” Tucking her hand back under the thin blanket, Carson seemed on the verge of tears. “It’s really good ta see ya, Elizabeth. But I would like it even better if I didn’t have ta keep seeing ya in hospital.”

She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but wasn’t too sure if came off quite right. Looking around the dimly lit surroundings, she tried to find another familiar face. _John?_

Carson sighed audibly. “He’s here, too, Elizabeth, but I’m afraid he’s still in a coma.”

 _What? What happened?!_ Trying to sit up, Elizabeth found herself unable to resist the light pressure of Beckett’s palms pressing her shoulders back into the mattress.

“He was shot getting ya out of that cabin. It didn’t seem too bad at first, but a piece a’ the buckshot lodged in his pulmonary artery. He was in full cardiac arrest by the time they got ya both to a local hospital. We aren’t sure yet what kinda lasting brain damage he might have.” Seeing the liquid drip from her eyes, Dr Beckett quickly wiped them away and tried to adopt a more optimistic tone. “If he’s lasted this long, Elizabeth, he isn’t goin’ ta die, I promise. And maybe if ya work on getting a bit better, ya can go see him. I bet he wakes up right as rain fer you.”

“She’s only going to get better if we let her rest.” Carolyn Lam’s voice preceded her arrival at her patient’s bedside. The younger doctor deftly injected a per-loaded syringe into Elizabeth’s IV line. “There you are, Dr Weir. That should take the edge off.”

Carson watched his friend’s eyes get heavy, and he gently brushed a few strands of dark curls away. “Don’t fight it, Elizabeth, it’s okay. We’ll still be here when ya wake again.”

Satisfied her patient was resting, Carolyn took a more serious tone. “McKay wants to see us – all of us – in the conference room. He has a proposal.”

“Well, that could be encouragin’ or terrifyin’. But I guess that’s just Rodney.”

*******

“You’re saying Sheppard’s brain damage is a good thing?” Jack O’Neill was sarcastic at the best of times, as well as the worst, and this definitely fell in the latter. “Did you, by any chance, also have a hypoxic stroke, Dr McKay?”

“Of course it’s not a good thing, that’s not what I’m saying.” Rodney crossed his arms defensively. “All I’m saying is that his present condition could be more advantageous to making the implant work.”

“And do we need to knock Dr Weir in the head as well to make it work?”

“Umm, probably not a good idea, since she would be the transmitter and Sheppard the receiver.”

“So you want to turn them into a pair of walkie-talkies?”

“No!...Well, okay, maybe. I mean, yes, I suppose they would walk…and talk. Actually, now that you mention it, that’s not a bad way to describe-”

“Rodney!” Sam’s bark silenced the rambling to bring them back on track. “I’ve looked over Dr McKay’s report, General, as well as the tech. The original purpose of this paired device was to help two Ancients keep in constant contact with each other on scouting missions where traditional telecom equipment did not work. It looks like they eventually adapted it to help those with neurological injuries too severe for even their own medical science. So I have to agree with McKay: it’s worth a shot.”

O’Neill remained unconvinced. “But would Sheppard agree?”

“Without hesitation.” Teyla had insisted on being there to speak for her friend. Her first trip to Earth about the Daedalus had been an exercise in patience and confined spaces, but she would not miss the opportunity to say goodbye to John or Elizabeth. Now, knowing what Rodney was proposing, she felt it important to be the voice they needed. “He never gave up on Dr Weir, and if he were at this table now, would tell you to start immediately, even without his present injuries.”

“I’m not saying it’s a perfect solution. There isn’t one, short of going back in time to warn ourselves about Sevinias.” Rodney tried to bring his tone back to something reasonable in an effort to be persuasive. “But Sheppard’s mind and body may be more accepting of the implant in his current state. It may even aid in his recovery.”

“You haven’t convinced me that it won’t kill him.” Dr Lam was not a proponent of experimenting on her patients with alien technologies, something she found the SGC a little too cavalier in doing at times.

“Is he getting any better?” Like Teyla, Ronon had insisted on being present for his friends, even if he didn’t completely understand what was being proposed.

“No, he’s not,” Carolyn admitted. “His latest EEG has only minimal activity. Not so little you could call him brain dead, but enough for me to tell you that he will never be the same again with out advanced medical intervention.”

“Then let us help him!” McKay pleaded.

“It’s not just his cooperation ya need,” Carson pointed out. “Elizabeth is part a’ this, too. Yer talkin’ about permanently changin’ her own brain functions as well. And we don’t know if she’s in any proper state to make that kinda decision.”

All eyes turned to Demarius North. The psychologist had been watching with overwhelmed fascination as two aliens from another galaxy, two surgeons, and two geniuses debated with an Air Force General the merits of implanting ten-millennia old technology into the brain of what was currently his only patient. “If you’re asking me to tell you Elizabeth Weir’s current state of mind, I couldn’t begin to guess. And that was before she spent a week as a hostage of two psychopaths. But I can tell you what I did manage to discern: Elizabeth Weir is not an idiot, she is not psychotic, and she does know her own mind, even if she’s not keen to let the rest of us know it. If you want to know if she’s willing to do this, just ask her.”

*******

They used a little adrenaline to wake her; well, not just to wake her, but make sure she absolutely alert and aware of everything they were saying. Carson had even helped her to sit up in bed while Teyla sat next to her, holding her hand for reassurance. A half-dozen anxious faces watched, waiting, hoping.

“I don’t want…I’m not saying Sheppard will die without this, Elizabeth.” Rodney rarely spoke so gently, forcing her to listen closely. “But I’m saying that what we hoped would be helpful for you could end up helping John a lot more. We don’t know how much of his higher brain functions have been damaged by the stroke. You could help to restore some…some semblance of life. For both of you.”

Elizabeth looked over at Teyla, her head swimming too much to take in every one else. She trusted the Athosian woman to protect her, to guide her as she always had before. “Elizabeth, we would not ask this if we believed it would harm you in any way. Rodney embarked on this project because he believed that it would help you to find your voice again. Now, you may find a way to bring John back, too.”

 _John_ …It was not a matter of her not wanting to do this. Elizabeth already knew she would, but knew that John would not want her to. That was the worst part. He would have agreed to this to help her, but would never agree to Elizabeth doing the same for him. She looked at Teyla, desperate for reassurance. _You know him._

Her friend nodded. “He will be upset when he learns what we have done. But we will just have to remind him that it is only because of this procedure that he can express his displeasure at all. If it was anyone else…” Teyla looked around at their audience, her intense gaze signalling Ronan to usher everyone else out. Even Rodney left without comment. Even though she was relatively certain no one else could hear, Teyla kept her voice low. “If it was anyone else, Elizabeth, I think John would resist the intrusion into his mind and resent the intervention. But he loves you more than he will ever admit, even to himself. I believe you are the only person who can be at the other end of this connection and keep John from going over the edge.”

Elizabeth could not help turning her palms upright to examine the scars on her wrists, the permanent reminded over her own trip over the edge. _How can I help him? I can’t even help myself._

“You can help him because you know that you must.” Teyla’s cupped hand raised Elizabeth’s chin to meet her eyes. “You were lost in yourself once, Elizabeth, any many people worked to bring you back. And I know you will not be lost again because you know that John will be depending upon you.”

Maybe that was what scared her so much; not the prospect of having an Ancient device implanted in her mind, but knowing that she would never be able to leave this world on her own terms. The escape of suicide would forever be barred to her, because it might mean killing John Sheppard. Elizabeth wasn’t afraid of helping him live; she was afraid of having to live for him.

But he loved her. And maybe, just maybe, she loved him, too. More than she would ever admit.

_Okay._

*******

He was standing on the balcony, soaking up the late afternoon sun as he gazed across the cityscape and endless ocean. There was something peaceful about being here, something that let his heart slow and his mind clear. ‘Contentment’ was not a word or feeling that often came over him, but this special place never failed to still his soul.

_“John?”_

He knew that voice. Her voice. But she wasn’t here, couldn’t be here. Because he had lost her.

_“John? Look at me, please.”_

How do you look at someone who isn’t there? How do you hear a voice that would never speak again? It was this place. It always made him think of her. This had always been their place. Sometimes they would talk about the past, sometimes the future; sometimes they wouldn’t talk at all. Now she was just an echo, a memory long in the past.

_~ We’re losing cohesion. Boost the signal another 1.5 hz ~_

“John. Please.” The slim warm hand on his arm was so familiar, so real.

So he turned to look. “Elizabeth?”

“There you are,” she said softly.

“Here I am.” But… “How long have we been here?”

Her green eyes were sad, the same look he had seen on her face when she told him to ‘Go’, to take the bomb-laden Jumper to the Wraith Hiveship two years ago, knowing he would never come back. “I think you’ve been here a long time, John.”

“I like it here.”

“I like it here, too.”

“Stay with me for a while? The sun is going down.”

“Of course.”

_~ What the hell is happening? ~_

_~ We’re losing both of them! ~_

_~ Break the connection! Now! ~_

_~ I can’t. She’s too far in! ~_

There was something she was supposed to be doing, but she couldn’t quite think of what it was. What could be wrong with sharing her balcony with John and watching the sun set on Atlantis? Isn’t this the way things were supposed to be?

_~ Get me 10cc’s of atropine! ~_

_~ Ya can’t bring her out, ya said so. ~_

_~ I’m not, it’s just a little kick in the pants. ~_

_~ Come on, Elizabeth, lass, ya can do this. ~_

“John, we can’t stay here.”

He looked at the hand intertwined with his. “Why not?”

“Because everyone is waiting for us.”

Turning her hand over, he rubbed the smooth skin of her forearm, remembering as things had been. “I don’t want to go if you’re not there.”

“I am, I promise.” She let her hand drift up to his face, then stood on her toes and kissed him, not with the angry passion as Phoebus once did, but gently, inviting.

_~ The frequency is starting to stabilize. I’m getting uniformity. ~_

_~ Thank god fer that. ~_

He was the one to finally break the kiss, heart aching with too much guilt to allow himself this moment. “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. I’m sorry for everything that happened to you. I let you down so many times…”

“No, you didn’t. You kept me going when I didn’t have the strength. So I’m here to return the favour. You brought me home once. Let me do the same for you.”

“I don’t understand. Is this real? Any of this?”

The world was starting to go dark, the sun completing its descent below the line of demarcation between sea and sky. He couldn’t see her any more, but he could still hear her.

“It can be. If you want it to.”

"I do," he whispered into the black, holding tightly to her hand once more.


	12. Chapter 12

“How long have they been like that?”

“Over an hour.”

“It’s weird.”

“Weird was after ten minutes. This is in the firm territory of downright creepy.”

Dr Preston and Dr North watched their patients through the glass, staring at each other, faces reacting with mirth or sorrow, and not exchanging a single word. When Weir had shown some hesitancy to eat, Sheppard gave her a stern look and made a few hand gestures evidently meant to accompany some unspoken command. After the first bite, he handed her the salt, then added some to his own, already knowing it was needed.

“Do you think we should say something?” Eleanor asked out of the side of her mouth, not turning her head away from the fascinating display.

“Like what?” Demarius scoffed. “They don’t appear to need to say anything!”

“Well good, then that means the implants are doing exactly what they’re supposed to.” Neither had heard Rodney McKay come up behind them, tablet in one hand, PowerBar in the other. Had there been time – lots of it – Eleanor would have loved to sit down with Rodney McKay and the DSM to see just what malfunctions made the man tick. “What are you two staring at? I mean, Sheppard looks kinda weird without all that hair, I know.”

“It’s not the lack of hair,” Eleanor mumbled, though she had to admit that shaving his head for surgery had left her patient verging on unrecognizable.

“So what? Haven’t you ever seen two telepaths before?”

Neither could be sure, but they might have heard the word ‘weirdos’ muttered under Rodney’s breath as he walked away. Both psychologists looked at each other and shrugged, then turned their attention back to the isolation room, now slightly less isolated with the arrival of Drs Lam and Beckett.

“Good mornin’,” Carson said cheerfully, pulling up a chair to join them at the table. “It’s nice ta see ya both up and eatin’. How do ya feel, Colonel?”

“Do you think he’s going to ask for a stool sample before he goes?” Sheppard asked.

 _John, you said that out loud._ Elizabeth burst into silent laughter while her companion turned a deep shade of red.

“Sorry, Carson.” John pointed at the scar running the length of his temporal bone. “I’m still struggling with telling the difference between out-loud and…not.”

“It’s alright, Colonel, I understand this has been a…difficult adjustment.” Bless Carson and his seemingly endless well of patience for his patients. “How are the headaches?”

_Not as bad today._

_Say it out loud, John._

“Not as bad today. Maybe we can call it a three-alarm hangover instead of a five.”

Carolyn frowned. “I gave you a large dose of Metoprolol yesterday to keep your pressure down. It could still be in your system and the symptoms get worse as the day progresses.”

_Regular bundle of sunshine, that one._

“Don’t be snarky, she was just being informative,” John chided.

“What did she say?” Dr Lam’s attention turned towards Elizabeth, who rolled her eyes and waved off the question, turning her attention back to the cooling mashed potatoes. “What? What did she say?”

“Elizabeth, how are you feeling?” Carson intervened, gently touching the back of her hand to get her attention.

_I’m fine._

“She’s fine.”

_It’s really annoying when you do that, you know._

_Isn’t that my entire purpose of being now? To be your voice?_

Elizabeth sighed. _I’m sorry. It’s not that. I’m annoyed that I can’t hear my own voice answer, I guess, and I feel like…like it’s not really me. That’s you’re just guessing what I would say._

_But I’m not, Elizabeth. Is there some way I could make this easier? A cue I could give to people know what I’m saying is what you’re saying?_

_No, John, you’ve already done so much. You’re stuck with me in your head now-_

_I’m alive because you came to get me. Carson did an MRI yesterday – bless those Ancients for not using magnetic metals – and he said there are whole new pathways in my brain bypassing the damaged parts. So don’t think I’m anything other than grateful and happy to be of service._

“Hello? Can either of ya hear me?” Beckett waived a hand between his two patients, finally breaking their connection.

“Sorry,” John mumbled.

_Sorry, Carson._

“She’s sorry, too. We just have a lot of…things to work out.”

The Scottish physician nodded. “I bet ya have. But it would be nice if, from time ta time, ya let the rest of us in on the joke. As ya both adapt ta this new neural connection it should become easier ta differentiate between the internal and external voices. Frankly, John, I’m astounded at yer progress thus far. I think lesser men would have had a much more difficult time of it.”

“I doubt other men would have been able to do it at all,” Dr Lam noted dryly. While human relationships may not have been her forte, she wasn’t blind, either. The only reason she had agreed to go forward with the implantation was after Dr Beckett’s private assurances that the affection between Sheppard and Weir would almost guarantee a successful syncing of minds.

 _What does she mean by that?_ It was amazing how sharp Elizabeth’s mental tone could become, like words piercing more deeply into his brain than something gently asked.

 _I think she means that this only worked because I like you._ The sheepishness of his response came through visually as much as anything. _And you like me. And liking each other is probably the first step in getting this to work successfully. Look what happened to Rodney when he had Cadman stuck in his head. The man went crazy – er._

“Do ya have any concerns, Elizabeth?” Carson figured he might as well direct his question to her, since silence always meant she was talking with John.

“No, Carson, she’s fine.” John caught the dubious look. “I swear! Trust me, it’s easier to just say what she’s thinking than get my brain shouted at. And she does shout.”

 _I do not shout!_ she shouted, and the moment John winced, Elizabeth realized that her ‘receiver’ really could ‘hear’ a difference in tone. Sorry.

“It’s okay.”

“What’s okay?” Dr Lam asked, struggling to keep up.

“Her, she’s-” John just waived it off. “It’s fine, everything is fine. We just need to keep working on things. Inside voices, outside voices, you’d think with only two choices it would be easier.” He rubbed his brow and sighed. “We just…need time.”

“Well then why don’t the two ya just find yer way back ta yer beds fer a few hours,” Carson suggested, standing up and gently helping Elizabeth to her feet. After surgically repairing her ankle they had given her a walking cast, intent on getting her up and moving as soon as possible. “Come on now, lass, ya need ta rest just as much as the Colonel.”

John’s head snapped up. “Lizbeth, that wasn’t very nice! – I did not! Oh, yes I did. Sorry.”

Carson decided it was easier not to ask. He just linked elbows with his patient and walked slowly back to her private room in companionable silence. Sheppard was still being kept in the infirmary for observation, kept on oxygen through the night, but Weir had been moved to a VIP room, though with a button that illuminated a light at the duty station should she need anything. Lowering her to the bedside, Dr Beckett wouldn’t leave until he was sure she was tucked under the covers and comfortable looking.

“Are ya sure yer not in any pain, lass? Can I get ya anything?” She just smiled a shook her head, but Carson frowned, sitting down to take her hand in his. “Don’t do that, Elizabeth. Last time ya wouldn’t talk ta me – well, ya know what I mean – I had ta let ya go, and I don’t want that ta happen again. I know it’s impossible ta open up yer soul, but I want ya ta look me in the eye and honestly tell me: are ya feeling alright?”

He was serious, and she could tell. She had been running from everyone but John for so long, it was hard to actually think how she felt. Dr Lam kept her on so many drugs, anxiety and depression didn’t stand a chance of making themselves known, and her ankle was hardly more than a dull throb after the agony it had been. But there was something she needed, or someone. _Carson, I want my mum._

The surgeon didn’t need Sheppard to translate. “I’ll see what I can do, luv.”

*******

Katherine Weir sat nervously beside the Air Force General who only needed to frown at the soldier in the guard post to open the gates to the most highly classified base on Earth. Her hand still cramped from the shear number of times she’d signed her name to the confidentiality papers needed to get this far. No wonder her daughter had never told her anything about her work for the military. In fact, she still didn’t really know what had happened, or was happening. After giving the letter to Jack O’Neill to take to Elizabeth in Willoughby she hadn’t heard anything for over a week; no one at the hospital would talk to her, until one hapless nurse admitted Elizabeth Weir was no longer a patient there. Desperately she had started calling around the few people she knew who had a relationship with Elizabeth, but no one knew anything.

Until Colonel O’Neill called again, promising he would take Katherine to see her daughter if she promised to never whisper a word about what she saw. He hadn’t even finished speaking before she agreed.

“I need to prepare you,” Jack finally said, offering his passenger a hand out of the car and guiding her over to a large elevator. “Elizabeth is a lot better than she was when she first went into Willoughby, but she’s still in a walking cast after a…particularly unfortunate failure in security.”

“What?” Katherine stepped away from her escort, frowning. “Don’t use clever euphemisms with me, General. I don’t need a PhD to know when someone is trying to put a high polish on the truth.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that. Elizabeth had to get those brains from somewhere.” Rubbing his brow to chase away the threatening migraine, Jack tried to find the gentlest opening. “Right, so…There were these two guys who happened to know the true nature of Elizabeth’s work, real wackos, conspiracy theorists, who wanted to get their hands on an Expedition member. Normally not a remote possibility, but Willoughby isn’t a high security facility, so they got to her a lot easier than I care to admit. It took us a week to find her. She was so ill they were pulling out antibiotics there aren’t even names for yet.”

“But before. What happened before?”

“A bomb.” Painfully blunt. “A bomb that tore out her throat. Elizabeth never called you because she…doesn’t have any vocal cords.”

“Oh…god.” A thousand thoughts crashed in on Katherine at once, but the most devastating was the realization that she would never again hear her little girl say ‘Mum’.

“Yeah, things were pretty bad for a while…it’s why we had to send her to Willoughby for more intense care. I wasn’t sure we were ever going to get her back. But we did…and that’s the harder part to explain.”

Katherine Weir shook her head, confused. “I’m sorry, General, I’m just not following along. What’s so complicated about getting my daughter back?”

“Because of the technology we used to give her back her voice.”

“So she can talk again?”

“Not exactly.” Jack cleared his throat, trying to come up with the most diplomatic approach. “Did she ever tell you about a Lt Colonel John Sheppard?”

“Yes, I think so, once or twice. I got the feeling they had become good friends over the last few years.”

“He was instrumental in finding you daughter, but he was shot in the process and had suffered rather extensive brain damage by the time we got him to the hospital. We have some of the best doctors in the world, but no one was sure he could be helped.”

Katherine swallowed hard. “He died saving Elizabeth?”

“Not quite.” The elevator finally came to a stop, disgorging them into a hallway of concrete and steel. “There was this device…an implant, in the brain. Elizabeth was able to bring Sheppard back to the land of the living, and Sheppard is able to tell us what Elizabeth is trying to say.”

Though her steps never faltered, it was obvious the older woman was completely lost in thought, trying to process the information. “I don’t understand, how is that possible?”

At that moment, Teal’c walked by, nodding a silent greeting, and only Jack’s steadying hand on her arm kept Katherine from backing into a protruding pipe cluster. “Oh, I think you’re going to find this place is full of things hard to understand. And way more is possible than impossible.”

He left it at that, and she did not have a chance to ask any more questions as they stepped into a small room with two people staring intently at each other. “Elizabeth?”

“Mum?” Not the familiar feminine voice, but the man with dark fuzz growing everywhere on his head except a long scar running half the distance of his skull. It was the barely recognizable young woman, though, who jumped up and hobbled over to throw her arms around Katherine.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s so good to see you, I’ve missed you so much.” The words came out in a tumble before tears overcame any ability to speak. Though she could feel her daughter shaking, could feel the tears soaking her shoulder, Katherine was keenly aware of no sound to accompany the crying. Stepping back, she whispered, “Let me look at you.”

Elizabeth lowered her head, trying to hide her face and neck, but her mother only cupped her chin and raised it, eyes taking in every facet of the scars. All she saw, though, was her little girl. “Just as beautiful as always.”

John struggled to process the onslaught of emotions, not just from Elizabeth, but his own. No one from his family had come to see him, no one seemed to know he was even still alive. He hadn’t heard from his dad or brother in years, couldn’t remember the last person to hug him. And though he didn’t mean it to happen, Elizabeth caught the feedback from John, suddenly breaking away from her mother and running to envelope him in a hug.

_I’m so sorry, John, I didn’t think-_

“It’s okay,” he whispered, warmly returning the embrace. Thank you. Looking up over her shoulder, he caught the older woman’s eye and winced, suddenly embarrassed.

_Introduce yourself._

“Um, Mrs Weir-” Stepping around Elizabeth, he awkwardly held out a hand. “Hi, I’m John-”

“Sheppard, yes.” Ignoring the hand, Katherine pulled him into another hug. “Thank you so much for helping my daughter. Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

“I owed her, I-” John felt his heart race, but needed to confess. “It was my fault, and I’m so, so sorry, Mrs Weir. I’m sorry for everything that happened-”

_John, stop._

“-It was my job to keep her safe, and I failed. But I promise, never again-”

 _JOHN!_ The shout in his mind physically hurt, making him stop and turn to face her. There were tears in his eyes that she reached up to brush away. _John, I never blamed you. Nothing that happened was your fault. Is that what you thought?_

_Elizabeth, OF COURSE it’s my fault. My job was to protect you, to keep you safe._

_Is that why you did all of this? She touched the scar running the side of his head. You thought I held you responsible?_

“No, that wasn’t the only reason.” His voice barely registered, and only because he thought the words as he said them did she understand. What he meant, though, was not just words, but a feeling so deeply repressed, it seemed doubtful that he even knew himself.

_You love me?_

No one knew what was going on, but John and Elizabeth were completely lost in each other. Katherine looked over at Jack, who shrugged. “It happens, well, a lot. They don’t really need the rest of us most of the time. And sometimes, you have no idea if Sheppard is talking to you, or her, or repeating what she said…We’re all trying to work this out still.”

Katherine watched her daughter’s face, watched a myriad of emotions playing out, and smiled. “Looks like they’re still trying to work it out as well. But they’re getting there.”

*******

“I like it here.”

“I know you do. I think that’s why you keep bringing us here every night.”

Elizabeth looked away from the horizon and at her balcony companion. “John, I want to go home.”

“Atlantis.”

“Yes. Don’t you?” It wasn’t quite a dream, wasn’t quite a waking conversation. Here in John’s mind, separated by a concrete wall, she could be herself, could hear herself, and pretend that nothing had changed. “What is there for us on Earth, John? We’ve been gone for too long; any sense of what this world means faded away years ago. I don’t care what we have to say, what we have to do, but I want to go back to Atlantis. I miss the ocean. I miss our friends.”

Her mind felt his hand brush her spine, hesitantly at first, then pressed more firmly, sneaking around her side and pulling her waist close to his. “We’ll find a way, Lizbeth, I promise.”

“My mother isn’t going to understand.”

“Of course she will. It’s part of being a mom.” He smiled sheepishly. “Or at least, that’s what my mom said when I joined the Air Force. She was the only one who wrote…”

She understood without him having to finish. Elizabeth laid her head against his shoulder, wondering how it was her mind could feel his warmth, smell his familiar musk. “And what about us?”

“You mean ‘us’ us? Yeah…of course that’s what you mean. I don’t know why I asked.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts while his arm loosened from around her.

But she took his silence the wrong way, pulling back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No.” Grabbing her wrist, John pulled Elizabeth to him and captured her lips with his, felt her relax, melding the curve of her body to his. By virtue of dreaming, breath wasn’t needed, letting them hold the kiss longer than would have been possible before John finally broke away. “That – that’s what I wanted to say, but I, uh…”

“But you didn’t know how to say it,” she finished for him.

“Yeah, well, I figure you were always better at doing the talking. I just…do.” He leaned in for another kiss, a brief one this time meant to punctuate his point. “It’s what makes us such a good team.”

Elizabeth reached up to rub her hand along the scruff that had become more frequent now that he was out of uniform. “Have I told you how much I love us as a team?”

“Not yet, but I’m glad to hear it.” Her grin suddenly falling, John cringed. “Lizbeth, I’m sorry-”

“No, I’m – it’s not you. It’s just knowing that you’re the only person who will ever hear me again. And I don’t mean that as – as anything against you, John, honestly. I just mean-”

Leaning in, the Colonel silenced her with a kiss, gentle fingers running through her hair. “I know what you mean. I know more about what you mean than anyone else. And I will absolutely do my best to make sure everyone else knows what you mean, too. I will do better, I promise.”

“John…You’ve always been the best.” She started to kiss him again, but he broke away quickly, disappointing her.

“We, uh…we better stop, before I have to wake up and put on clean shorts.” John looked away awkwardly, but Elizabeth smiled, completely aware of what he was feeling, because she could feel the same. “But we can pick this up again in the morning, yeah?”

She lifted his chin, making sure he could read her expression. “We can pick up our discussion in the morning…but I hope we pick up the rest of this in the evening. Alone.”

*******

“Sooo, you want me to authorize the two of you to go back to Atlantis as…what? Part of the mess staff? Maintenance? Because it can’t be as you were.”

Jack O’Neill didn’t mean to sound as harsh as he did, but he felt bad when Elizabeth flinched and Sheppard’s face turned to stony anger for upsetting her. While he considered apologizing, the General held his tongue, because he also knew he was right and was resentful as hell that they had come to him with such an outlandish request. There was no way he could justify sending two completely broken former members of the Atlantis Expedition back to the place that had broken them to begin with.

John reached over to grip Elizabeth’s hand, bringing her attention back to the man on the other side of the desk. “Look, I – we – know this isn’t ideal. And we’re not asking to go as – as freeloaders or anything. We can find ways to contribute, you just have to give us a chance.”

“And how am I supposed to sell this to the IOA?” Jack demanded, resisting the urge to look at his watch. He wanted to go home and watch the Stanley Cup final, not play politics. “A suicidal mute and a brain damaged ex-pilot? Nope-” He held up a finger to forestall argument “-I know it’s not a fair assessment, but you know that’s exactly how they’re going to see it.”

“I’m not suicidal!” John shouted it, but Elizabeth’s mouth was also forming the words.

“No, of course you’re not…Not now, anyway,” the General mumbled.

_I need you to listen, John, I need you to tell him exactly what I’m saying._

It was actually easy for John to turn off the more conscious part of his mind, to let the warm spark that always occupied his brain now flare into flame. “Let me frame this for you in a way that even the IOA will understand, General-”

Jack was very much aware that he was not talking to John Sheppard.

“I won’t start with the obvious reason that you owe us; after everything we’ve done for this program, you owe us. No, I’ll start with the fact that you have no one with even half of my security clearance capable of negotiating on behalf of the Expedition currently stationed on Atlantis. No one in either galaxy knows the people of Pegasus as well as I do, or the needs of the Expedition and Earth. Who do you think can balance that knowledge and need better than me? Atlantis cannot be forever dependent on Earth sending supplies.

“Okay, yes, I will never again be leader of Atlantis, and John will never be its military commander, we realize that. And we’re not asking for that. But John is still capable of training its personnel, and still has the strongest expression of the ATA gene we’ve found. I don’t need a mole in the SGC to know Rodney McKay has probably been pestering the hell out of you to borrow John.”

The look on Jack’s face told Elizabeth she was more than correct, but she also knew she wasn’t done selling him just yet. “So we both know the Pentagon will prefer John being back on Atlantis, and the IOA will be sold on me because they still haven’t found a civilian replacement for me. And here is the best part: you cannot have either one of us without the other. The SGC doesn’t need us, General, but Atlantis does.”

Jack tapped his pen thoughtfully on the desk. She made good points, as much as he didn’t like them. It wasn’t that he wanted to punish Elizabeth and John, wasn’t that they didn’t deserve a second chance at Atlantis…It was that he was scared for them. If anything happened to either one of them, unlike before, he would know this was his fault. “You have to promise me-”

“We’ll be okay, sir.” John took the lead this time, trying to ignore the slight ache in his head after letting Elizabeth talk for so long. “Give us a chance to prove it to you. We can do this.”

A slow nod. “Okay. Let me see what I can do.”

Looking at each other, exchanging some unknown agreement, both nodded at Jack and left his office without a word, at least not one spoken aloud.

"I hate it when they do that," he grumbled. 


End file.
